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BETWEEN  THE  LINES 


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October,  1915. 

,    November,  1915. 

.    December,  1915. 

January,  1916. 

,     February,  1916. 

March,  1916. 

April,  1916. 

May,  1916. 

July,  1916. 

Angujt,  1916. 

,  September,  1916. 

May,  1917. 


BETWEEN    THE    LINES 


By    BOYD    CABLE 

AUTHOR  OF  '  QUAPES  OJ  WKATH  '   'ACTION  FBONT'    ETC 


NEW    EDITION 


LONDON 
JOHN  MUEEAY,  ALBEMARLE  STREET,  W. 
1917    . 


TO 

THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  CORNHILL 

EEamALD   JOHN   SMITH 

for  whose  helpful  criticism  and  advice,  kindly 
consideration  and  unfailing  courtesy  to  an 
unhnown  writer,  a  sufficiency  of  grateful  appre- 
ciation can  never  he  expressed  by 

THE   AUTHOR 


[All  riohts  rescrveJ} 


FOREWORD 

This  book,  all  of  which  has  been  written  at  the 
Front  within  sound  of  the  German  guns  and  for 
the  most  part  within  shell  and  rifle  range,  is 
an  attempt  to  tell  something  of  the  manner  of 
struggle  that  has  gone  on  for  months  between 
the  lines  along  the  Western  Front,  and  more 
especially  of  what  lies  behind  and  goes  to  the 
making  of  those  curt  and  vague  terms  in  the  war 
communiques.  I  think  that  our  people  at  Home 
will  be  glad  to  know  more,  and  ought  to  know 
more,  of  what  these  bald  phrases  may  actually 
signify,  when,  in  the  other  sense,  we  read  *  between 
the  lines/ 

Of  the  people  at  Home — whom  we  at  the 
Front  have  rehed  upon  and  looked  to  more  than 
they  may  know — many  have  helped  us  in  heaping 
measure  of  deed  and  thought  and  thoughtfulness, 
while  others  may  perhaps  have  failed  somewhat 
in  their  full  duty,  because,  as  we  have  been  told 


vii  FOREWORD 

and  re-told  to  the  point  of  weariness,  they  *  have 
not  understood  '  and  '  do  not  realise  '  and  *  were 
never  told.' 

If  this  book  brings  anything  of  interest  and 
pleasure  to  the  first,  and  of  understanding  to  the 
second,  it  will  very  fully  have  served  its  double 
purpose. 

Boyd  Cable. 

'SOMBSVHERB   IN   FbANOI' 

8ept.  15,  1915. 


CONTENTS 


picn 

The  Advanobd  Trenches 1 

SheijLS 12 

The  Mine 34 

Arttlleey  Support 64 

'  NoTHiNa  TO  Report  ' 84 

The  Promise  of  Spring 113 

The  Advance 130 

A  Convert  to  Conscription 148 

'  Business  as  Usual  ' 171 

A  Hymn  or  Hate 188 

The  Cost 205 

A  Smoker's  Companion 228 

The  Job  op  the  Ah.  Col, 239 

The  Signaller's  Day 257 


BETWEEN    THE   LINES 

THE  ADVANCED  TRENCHES 

*  Near  BlanJc,  on  the  Dash- Dot  front,  a  section 
of  advanced  trench  changed  hands  several  times, 
finally  remaining  in  our  possession.^ 

For  perhaps  the  twentieth  time  in  half  an  hour 
the  look-out  man  in  the  advanced  trench  raised 
his  head  cautiously  over  the  parapet  and  peered 
out  into  the  darkness.  A  drizzKng  rain  made 
it  almost  impossible  to  see  beyond  a  few  yards 
ahead,  but  then  the  German  trench  was  not 
more  than  fifty  yards  ofi  and  the  space  between 
was  criss-crossed  and  interlaced  and  a-bristle 
with  the  tangle  of  barb-wire  defences  erected  by 
both  sides.  For  the  twentieth  time  the  look- 
out peered  and  twisted  his  head  sideways  to 
hsten,  and  for  the  twentieth  time  he  was  just 
lowering  his  head  beneath  the  sheltering  parapet 


2  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

when  he  stopped  and  stiffened  into  rigidity. 
There  was  no  sound  apart  from  the  sharp  cracks 
of  the  rifles  near  at  hand  and  running  diminuendo 
along  the  trenches  into  a  rising  and  falling  stutter 
of  reports,  the  frequent  whine  and  whistle  of 
the  more  distant  bullets,  and  the  quick  hiss  and 
'  zipp '  of  the  nearer  ones,  all  sounds  so  con- 
stant and  normal  that  the  look-out  paid  no 
heed  to  them,  put  them,  as  it  were,  out  of  the 
focus  of  his  hearing,  and  strained  to  catch  the 
fainter  but  far  more  significant  sound  of  a 
footstep  squelching  in  the  mud,  the  '  snip '  of 
a  wire-cutter  at  work,  the  low  *  tang '  of  a 
jarred  wire. 

A  few  hundred  yards  down  the  line,  a  dazzHng 
light  sprang  out,  hung  suspended,  and  slowly 
floated  down,  glowing  nebulous  in  the  misty  rain, 
and  throwing  a  soft  radiance  and  dusky  shadows 
and  gleaming  lines  of  silver  along  the  parapets 
and  wire  entanglements. 

Intent,  the  look-out  stared  to  his  front  for  a 
moment,  flung  muzzle  over  the  parapet  and  butt 
to  shoulder,  and  snapped  a  quick  shot  at  one  of 
the  darker  blotches  that  lay  prone  beyond  the 
outer  tangles  of  wire.  The  blotch  jerked  and 
sprawled,  and  the  look-out  sixguted,  slipped  out 


THE  ADVANCED  TRENCHES  3 

the  catch  of  his  magazine  cut-oS,  and  pumped 
out  the  rounds  as  fast  as  fingers  could  work  bolt 
and  trigger,  the  stabbing  flashes  of  the  discharge 
lighting  with  sharp  vivid  glares  his  tense  features. 
Bet  teeth,  and  scowhng  eyes.  There  was  a  pause 
and  stilhiess  for  the  space  of  a  couple  of  quick- 
drawn  breaths,  and  then — pandemonium  ! 

The  forward  trench  flamed  and  blazed  with 
spouts  of  rifle-fire,  its  slightly  curved  length 
clearly  defined  from  end  to  end  by  the  spitting 
flashes.  Verey  fights  and  magnesium  flares  turned 
the  darkness  to  ghastly  vivid  fight,  the  fierce  red 
and  orange  of  bursting  bombs  and  grenades  threw 
splashes  of  angry  colour  on  the  glistening  wet 
parapets,  the  flat  khaki  caps  of  the  British,  the 
dark  overcoats  of  the  Germans  struggfing  and 
hacking  in  the  barb- wires.  The  eye  was  confused 
with  the  medley  of  leaping  lights  and  shadows ; 
the  ear  was  dazed  with  the  clamour  and  uproar 
of  cracking  rifles,  screaming  bullets,  and  shattering 
bombs,  the  oaths  and  yells,  the  shouted  orders, 
the  groans  and  outcries  of  the  wounded.  Then 
from  overhead  came  a  savage  rush  and  shriek, 
a  flash  of  light  that  showed  vivid  even  amidst 
the  confusion  of  light,  a  harder,  more  vicious 
crash  than  all  the  other  crashing  reports,  and  the 


4  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

shrapnel  ripped  down  along  the  line  of  the 
German  trecch  that  erupted  struggling,  hurrying 
knots  of  men. 

A  call  from  the  trench  telephone,  or  the  sound 
of  the  burst  of  bomb  and  rifle  fire,  had  brought 
the  gunners  on  the  jump  for  their  loaded  pieces, 
and  once  more  the  guns  were  taking  a  hand. 
Shell  after  shell  roared  up  overhead  and  lashed 
the  ground  with  shrapnel,  and  for  a  moment 
the  attack  flinched  and  hung  back  and  swayed 
uncertainly  under  the  cruel  hail.  For  a  moment 
only,  and  then  it  surged  on  again,  seethed  and 
eddied  in  agitated  whirlpools  amongst  the  stakes 
and  strands  of  the  torturing  wires,  came  on  again, 
and  with  a  roar  of  hate  and  frenzied  triumph 
leaped  at  the  low  parapet.  The  parapet  flamed 
and  roared  again  in  gusts  of  rapid  fije,  and  the 
front  ranks  of  the  attackers  witnered  and  went 
down  in  strugghng  heaps  before  it.  But  the 
ranks  behind  came  on  fiercely  and  poured  in 
over  the  trench;  the  lights  flickered  and 
danced  on  plunging  bayonets  and  polished  butts ; 
the  savage  voices  of  the  killing  machines  were 
drowned  in  the  more  savage  clamour  of  the  human 
fighter,  and  then  .  .  .  comparative  silence  fell  on 
the  trench. 


THE  ADVANCED  TRENCHES  5 

The  attack  had  succeeded,  the  Germans  were 
in,  and,  save  for  one  little  knot  of  men  who  had 
escaped  at  the  last  minute,  the  defenders  were 
killed,  wounded,  or  taken  prisoners.  The  captured 
trench  was  shaped  like  the  curve  of  a  tall,  thin 
capital  D,  a  short  communication  trench  leading 
in  to  either  end  from  the  main  firing  trench  that 
formed  the  back  of  the  D  and  a  prolongation 
outwards  from  it.  The  curve  was  in  German 
hands,  but  no  sooner  was  this  certain  than  the 
main  trench  sprang  to  angry  life.  The  Germans 
in  the  captured  curve  worked  in  a  desperation 
of  haste,  pulUng  sandbags  from  what  had  been  the 
face  of  the  trench  and  heaving  them  into  place 
to  make  a  breastwork  on  the  new  front,  while 
reinforcements  rushed  across  from  the  German 
side  and  opened  fire  at  the  main  British  trench 
a  score  of  yards  away. 

Then,  before  the  gasping  takers  of  the  trench 
could  clear  the  dead  and  wounded  from  under 
their  feet,  before  they  could  refill  their  emptied 
magazines,  or  settle  themselves  to  new  footholds 
and  elbow-rests,  the  British  counter-attack  was 
launched.  It  was  ushered  in  by  a  shattering 
burst  of  shrapnel.  The  word  had  passed  to  the 
gimners,  careful  and  minute  adjustments  had  been 


6  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

made,  the  muzzles  had  swung  round  a  fraction, 
and  then,  suddenly  and  quick  as  the  men  could 
fling  in  a  round,  slam  the  breech  and  pull  the 
firing  lever,  shell  after  shell  had  leapt  roaring 
on  their  way  to  sweep  the  trench  that  had  been 
British,  but  now  was  enemy.  For  ten  or  fifteen 
seconds  the  shrapnel  hailed  fiercely  on  the  cowering 
trench;  then,  at  another  word  down  the  telephone, 
the  fire  shut  off  abruptly,  to  re-open  almost 
immediately  further  forward  over  the  main  German 
trenches. 

From  the  main  British  trench  an  officer  leaped, 
another  and  another  heaved  themselves  over  the 
parapet,  and  in  an  instant  the  long,  level  edge 
of  the  trench  was  crowded  with  scrambling, 
struggling  men.  With  a  hoarse  yell  they  flung 
themselves  forward,  and  the  lost  trench  spouted 
a  whirlwind  of  fire  and  lead  to  meet  their  rush. 
But  the  German  defenders  had  no  fair  chance  of 
resistance.  Their  new  parapet  was  not  half  formed 
and  offered  no  protection  to  the  stream  of  bullets 
that  sleeted  in  on  them  from  rifles  and  maxims 
on  their  flanks.  The  charging  British  infantry 
carried  hand  grenades  and  bombs  and  flung  them 
ahead  of  them  as  they  ran,  and,  finally,  there  was 
no  thicket  of  barb-wire  to  check  the  swing  and 


THE  ADVANCED  TRENCHES  7 

impetus  of  the  rush.  The  trench  was  reached, 
and  again  the  clamour  of  voices  raised  in  fear  and 
pain,  the  hoarse  rancour  of  hate,  the  shrill  agony 
of  death,  rose  high  on  the  sounds  of  battle.  The 
rush  swept  up  on  the  trench,  engulfed  it  as  a  wave 
engulfs  the  cleft  on  a  rock  beach,  boiled  and 
eddied  about  it,  and  then  .  .  .  and  then  .  .  . 
swept  roaring  over  it,  and  on.  The  counter-attack 
had  succeeded,  and  the  victors  were  pushing  their 
advantage  home  in  an  attack  on  the  main  German 
trench.  The  remnants  of  the  German  defenders 
were  swept  back,  fighting  hopelessly  but  none 
the  less  fiercely.  Supports  poured  out  to  their 
assistance,  and  for  a  full  five  minutes  the  fiaht 
raged  and  swayed  in  the  open  between  the  trenches 
and  among  the  wire  entanglements.  The  men 
who  fell  were  trampled,  squirming,  underfoot 
in  the  bloody  mire  and  mud ;  the  fighters  stabbed 
and  hacked  and  struck  at  short  arm-length,  fell 
even  to  using  fists  and  fingers  when  the  press  ^yas 
too  close  for  weapon  play  and  swing. 

But  the  attack  died  out  at  last  without  the 
German  entanglements  being  passed  or  their 
earthwork  being  reached.  Here  and  there  an 
odd  man  had  scrambled  and  torn  a  way  through 
the  wire,  only  to  fall  on  or  before  the  parapet. 


8  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

Others  hung  limp  or  writhing  feebly  to  free  them- 
selves from  the  clutching  hooks  of  the  wire.    Both 
sides  withdrew,  panting  and  nursing  their  dripping 
wounds,   to   the   shelter   of   their   trenches,    and 
both  left  their  dead  sprawled  in  the  trampled 
ooze  or  stayed  to  help  their  wounded  crawling 
painfully  back  to  cover.    Immediately  the  British 
set  about  rebuilding  their  shattered   trench  and 
parapet;    but  before  they   had  well  begun  the 
spades  had  to  be  flung  down  again  and  the  rifles 
snatched   to   repel   another   fierce   assault.    This 
time   a    storm   of    bombs,    hand    grenades,    rifle 
grenades,  and  every  other  fiendish  device  of  high- 
explosives,  preceded  the  attack.    The  trench  was 
racked  and  rent  and  torn,  sections  were  solidly 
blown  in,  and  other  sections  were  flung  out  bodily 
in  yawning  crevasses  and   craters.    From  end  to 
end  the  line  was  wrapped  in  billowing  clouds  of 
reeking  smoke,   and  starred  with  bursts  of  fire. 
The  defenders  flattened  themselves  close  agairst 
the   forward   parapet   that   shook   and    trembled 
beneath  them  like  a  live  thing  under  the  rending 
blasts.    The  rifles  still  cracked  up  and  down  the 
line;    but,  in  the  main,  the  soaking,  clay-smeared 
men  held  still  and  hung  on,  grimly  waiting  and 
saving  their  full  magazines  for  the  rush  they  knew 


THE  ADVANCED  TRENCHES  9 

would  follow.  It  came  at  last,  and  the  men 
breathed  a  sigh  of  reHef  at  the  escape  it  meant 
from  the  rain  of  high-explosives.  It  was  theix 
turn  now,  and  the  roar  of  their  rifle-fire  rang  out 
and  the  bomb-throwers  raised  themselves  to  hurl 
their  carefully-saved  missiles  on  the  advancing 
mass.  The  mass  reeled  and  spht  and  melted 
under  the  fire,  but  fresh  troops  were  behind  and 
pushing  it  on,  and  once  more  it  flooded  in  on  the 
trench.  .  .  , 

Again  the  British  trench  had  become  German, 
although  here  and  there  throughout  its  length 
knots  of  men  still  fought  on,  unheeding  how  the 
fight  had  gone  elsewhere  in  the  line,  and  intent 
solely  on  their  own  little  circle  of  slaughter. 

But  this  time  the  German  success  was  hardly 
made  before  it  was  blotted  out.  The  British 
supports  had  been  pushed  up  to  the  disputed 
point,  and  as  the  remnants  of  the  last  defenders 
straggled  back  they  met  the  fierce  rush  of  the 
new  and  fresh  force. 

This  time  it  waa  quicker  work.  The  trench  by 
now  was  shattered  and  wrecked  out  of  all  real 
semblance  to  a  delensive  work.  The  edge  of  the 
new  attack  swirled  up  to  it,  lipped  over  and  fell 
bodily  into  it.    For  a  bare  minute  the  defence  fought. 


10  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

but  it  was  overborne  and  wiped  out  in  that  time. 
The  British  flung  in  on  top  of  the  defenders  like 
terriers  into  a  rat-pit,  and  the  fighters  snarled  and 
worried  and  scuffled  and  clutched  and  tore  at 
each  other  more  like  savage  brutes  than  men. 
The  defence  was  not  broken  or  driven  out — it 
was  killed  out ;  and  lunging  bayonet  or  smashing 
butt  caught  and  finished  the  few  that  tried  to 
struggle  and  claw  a  way  out  up  the  sHppery 
trench-sides.  Hard  on  the  heels  of  the  victorious 
attackers  came  a  swarm  of  men  running  and 
staggering  to  the  trench  with  filled  sandbags 
over  their  shoulders.  As  the  front  of  the  attack 
passed  on  over  the  wrecked  trench  and  pressed 
the  Germans  back  across  the  open,  the  sandbags 
were  flung  down  and  heaped  scientifically  in  the 
criss-cross  of  a  fresh  breastwork.  Other  men, 
laden  with  coils  of  wire  and  stakes  and  hammers, 
ran  out  in  front  and  fell  to  work  erecting  a  fresh 
entanglement.  In  five  minutes  or  ten — for  minutes 
are  hard  to  count  and  tally  at  such  a  time  and  in 
such  work — the  new  defence  was  complete,  and 
the  fighters  in  the  open  ran  back  and  leapt  over 
into  cover. 

Once  more   a  steady  crackle  of  rifle-fire  ran 
quivering  up  and  down  the  line,  and  from  their 


THE  ADVANCED  TEENCHES     11 

own  trenches  the  Germans  could  see,  in  the  light 
of  the  flares,  a  new  breastwork  facing  them,  a 
new  entanglement  waiting  to  trap  them,  a  steady 
stream  of  fire  spitting  and  sparkling  along  the  line. 
They  could  see,  too,  the  heaped  dead  between 
the  lines,  and  in  their  own  thinned  ranks  make 
some  reckoning  of  the  cost  of  their  attempt. 

The  attempt  was  over.  There  were  a  few 
score  dead  lying  in  ones  and  twos  and  little  clumped 
heaps  in  the  black  mud ;  the  disputed  trench  was 
a  reeking  shambles  of  dead  and  wounded ;  the 
turn  of  the  stretcher-bearers  and  the  Ked  Cross 
workers  had  come.  There  would  be  another 
column  to  add  to  the  Casualty  Lists  presently, 
and  another  bundle  of  telegrams  to  be  despatched 
to  the  '  Next  of  Kin.' 

And  to-morrow  the  official  despatch  would 
mention  the  matter  coldly  and  tersely ;  and  the 
papers  would  repeat  it ;  and  a  miUion  eyes  would 
read  with  Httle  understanding  .  .  .  *  changed 
hands  several  times,  finally  remaining  in  our 
possession.* 


SHELLS 

* .  .  .  io  the  right  a  violent  artillery  hornbard- 
merit  has  been  in  "progress^ — Actual  Extract 
i-ROM  Oeficial  Despatch. 

No.  2  Platoon  of  the  Royal  Blanks  was  cooking  its 
breakfast  with  considerable  difficulty  and  an  aston- 
ishing amount  of  cheerfulness  when  the  first  shell 
fell  in  front  of  their  firing  trench.  It  had  rained 
most  of  the  night,  as  indeed  it  had  rained  most 
of  the  past  week  or  the  past  month.  All  night  long 
the  men  had  stood  on  the  firing  step  of  the  trench, 
chilled  and  miserable  in  their  sodden  clothing,  and 
sunk  in  soft  sticky  mud  over  the  ankles.  Ail  night 
long  they  had  peeped  over  the  parapet,  or  fixed 
through  the  loopholes  at  the  German  trench  a 
hundred  yards  oS.  And  all  night  long  they  had 
been  galled  and  stung  by  that  '  desultory  rifle  fixe  * 
that  the  despatches  mention  so  casually  and  so 
often,  and  that  requires  to  be  endured  throughout 
a  dragging  day  and  night  before  its  ugliness  and 
unpleasantness  can  be  realised. 

12 


SHELLS  13 

No.  2  Platoon  had  two  casualties  for  the  night 
— a  corporal  who  had  paused  too  long  in  looking 
over  the  parapet  while  a  star-shell  flared,  and 
*  caught  it '  neatly  through  the  forehead,  and  a 
private  who,  in  the  act  of  firing  through  a  loop- 
hole, had  been  hit  by  a  bullet  which  glanced  oS 
his  rifle  barrel  and  completed  its  resulting  ricochet 
in  the  private's  eyes  and  head.  There  were 
other  casualties  further  along  the  trench,  but 
outside  the  immediate  ken  of  No.  2  Platoon, 
until  they  were  assisted  or  carried  past  on  their 
way  to  the  ambulance. 

Just  after  daybreak  the  desultory  fire  and 
the  rain  together  had  almost  ceased,  and  No.  2 
Platoon  set  about  trying  to  coax  cooking  fires  out 
of  damp  twigs  and  fragments  of  biscuit  boxes 
which  had  been  carefully  treasured  and  protected 
in  comparative  dryness  inside  the  men's  jackets. 
The  breakfast  rations  consisted  of  Army  bread 
— heavy  lumps  of  a  doughy  elasticity  one  would 
think  only  within  the  range  of  badness  of  a  comic 
paper's  *  Mrs.  Newly  wed  ' — flint-hard  biscuits, 
cheese,  and  tea. 

*  The  only  complaint  against  the  rations  bein' 
too  much  plum  jam,'  said  a  clay-smeared  private, 
quoting  from  a  much-derided  *  Eye-witness  '  report 


U  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

as  lie  dug  out  a  solid  streak  of  uncooked  dough 
from  the  centre  of  his  half-loaf  and  dropped  it 
in  the  brazier. 

Then  the  first  shell  landed.  It  fell  some 
yards  outside  the  parapet,  and  a  column  of  sooty 
black  smoke  shot  up  and  hung  heavily  in  the 
damp  air.    No.  2  Platoon  treated  it  lightly. 

*  Good  mornin'/  said  one  man  cheerfully, 
nodding  towards  the  black  cloud.  *  An'  we  'ave 
not  used  Pears'  soap.' 

*  Bless  me  if  it  ain't  oux  old  friend  the  Coal 
Box,'  said  ac other.  *  We  'aven't  met  one  of  'is 
sort  for  weeks  back.' 

'  An'  here's  'is  pal  Whistling  WiUie,'  said  a 
third,  and  they  sat  listening  to  the  rise-and-fall 
whistling  s-s-sh-s-s-sh  of  a  high-angle  shell.  As 
the  whistle  rose  to  a  shriek,  the  group  of  men 
half  made  a  move  to  duck,  bat  they  were  too 
late,  and  the  shell  burst  with  a  thunderous  bang 
just  short  of  the  front  parapet.  Mud  and  lumps 
of  earth  splashed  and  rattled  down  into  the  trench, 
and  fragments  of  iron  hurtled  singing  overhead. 

The  men  cursed  angily.  The  brazier  had 
been  knocked  over  by  a  huge  clod,  half-boihng 
water  was  spilt,  and,  worst  of  all,  the  precious 
dry  wood  had  fallen  in  the  mud  and  water  of  the 


SHELLS  15 

trench  bottom.  But  the  men  soon  had  other  things 
than  a  lost  breakfast  to  think  of.  A  shrapnel 
crashed  overhead  and  a  little  to  the  right,  and 
a  sharp  scream  that  died  down  into  deep  groans 
told  of  the  first  casualty.  Another  shell,  and 
then  another,  roared  up  and  smashed  into  the 
soft  ground  behind  the  trench,  hurting  no  one, 
but  driving  the  whole  line  to  crouch  low  in  the 
narrow  pit. 

*  Get  down  and  lie  close  everyone,'  shouted  the 
young  officer  of  No.  2  Platoon,  but  the  '  crump- 
crump-crump  '  of  another  group  of  falling  shells 
spoke  sterner  and  more  imperative  orders  than 
his.  For  half  an  hour  the  big  shells  fell  with 
systematic  and  regular  precision  along  the  line 
of  the  front  trench,  behind  it  on  the  bare  ground, 
and  further  back  towards  the  supports'  trench. 
The  shooting  was  good,  but  so  were  the  trenches — 
deep  and  narrow,  and  steep-sided,  with  dug-outs 
scooped  under  the  bank  and  strong  traverses 
localising  the  effect  of  any  shell  that  fell  exactly 
on  the  trench.  There  were  few  casualties,  and 
the  Royal  Blanks  were  beginning  to  congratulate 
themselves  on  getting  o3  so  lightly  as  the  fire 
slackened  and  almost  died  away.  t' 

With  thfis  rest  of  the  line  No.  ^  Platoon  was 


16  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

painfully  moving  from  its  cramped  position  and 
trying  to  stamp  and  shake  the  circulation  back 
into  its  stiffened  Umbs,  when  there  came  a  sudden 
series  of  swishing  rushes  and  sharp  vicious  cracks 
overhead,  and  ripping  thuds  of  shrapnel  across 
and  across  the  trench.  The  burst  of  fire  from  the 
light  guns  was  excellently  timed.  Their  high 
velocity  and  flat  trajectory  landed  the  shells  on 
their  mark  without  any  of  the  whistling  rush  of 
approach  that  marked  the  bigger  shells  and  gave 
time  to  duck  into  any  available  cover.  The  one 
gust  of  light  shells  caught  a  full  dozen  men — as 
many  as  the  half- hour's  work  of  the  big  guns. 

Then  the  heavies  opened  again  as  accurately 
as  before  and  twice  as  fast.  The  trench  began 
to  yawn  in  wide  holes,  and  its  sides  to  crumble 
and  collapse.  No.  2  Platoon  occupied  a  portion 
of  the  trench  that  ran  out  in  a  blunted  angle, 
and  it  caught  the  worst  of  the  fire.  One  shell 
falhng  just  short  of  the  front  parapet  dug  a  yawning 
hole  and  drove  in  the  forward  wall  of  the  trench 
in  a  tumbled  slide  of  mud  and  earth.  A  dug-out 
and  the  two  men  occupying  it  were  completely 
buried,  and  the  yoimg  officer  scurried  and  pushed 
along  to  the  place  shouting  for  spades.  A  party 
fell  to  work  with  frantic  haste  ;  but  all  their  energy 


SHELLS  17 

was  wasted.  The  occupants  of  the  buried  dug- 
out were  dead  when  at  last  the  spades  found  them 
.  .  .  and  broken  finger-nails  and  bleeding  finger- 
tips told  a  grisly  tale  of  the  last  desperate  struggle 
for  escape  and  for  the  breath  of  life.  The  officer 
covered  the  one  convulsed  face  and  starting  eyes 
with  his  handkerchief,  and  a  private  placed  a 
muddy  cap  over  the  other. 

*  Get  back  to  your  places  and  get  down,' 
said  the  officer  quietly,  and  the  men  crawled 
back  and  crouched  low  again.  For  a  full  hour 
the  line  lay  under  the  flail  of  the  big  shells 
that  roared  and  shrieked  overhead  and  thundered 
crashing  along  the  trenches.  For  a  full  hour  the 
men  barely  moved,  except  to  shift  along  from 
a  spot  where  the  shaken  and  cnunbling  parapet 
gave  insufficient  cover  from  the  hailing  shrapnel 
that  poured  down  at  intervals,  and  from  the 
bullets  that  swept  in  and  smacked  venomously 
into  the  back  of  the  trench  through  the  shell-rifts 
in  the  parapet. 

A  senior  officer  made  his  way  slowly  along 
the  sodden  and  quaking  trench.  He  halted  beside 
the  young  officer  and  spoke  to  him  a  few  minutes 
asking  what  the  casualties  were  and  hoping  vaguely 
*  they  would  ease  off  presently.' 


18  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

*  Can't  our  own  guns  do  anything  ?  *  asked  the 
youngster ;  '  or  won't  they  let  us  get  out  and 
have  a  go  at  them  ?  ' 

The  senior  nodded  towards  the  bare  stretch 
of  muddy  plough  before  their  trench,  and  the 
tangle  of  barbed  wire  beyond. 

*  How  many  men  d'you  suppose  would  get 
there  ?  '    he  asked. 

'  Some  would,'  said  the  youngster  eagerly, 
*  and  anything  would  be  better  than  sticking 
here  and  getting  pounded  to  pieces.' 

'  We'll  see,'  said  the  major  moving  off.  '  They 
may  ask  us  to  try  it  presently.  And  if  not  we'll 
pull  through,  I  dare  say.  See  that  the  men  keep 
down,  and  keep  down  yourself,  Grant.  Watch 
out  for  a  rush  through.  This  may  be  a  preparation 
for  something  of  the  sort.' 

He  moved  along,  and  the  lad  flattened  himself 
again  against  the  side  of  the  wet  trench. 

A  word  from  a  man  near  him  turned  him 
round.  *  ...  a  'tillery  Observin'  Officer  comin'. 
P'raps  our  guns  are  goin'  for  'em  at  last.' 

The  gunner  officer  stumbled  along  the  trench 
towards  them.  Behind  him  came  his  signaller, 
a  coil  of  wire  and  a  portable  telephone  in  a  leather 
case    slimg    over    his    shoulder.    No.    2    Platoon 


SHELLS  19 

watched  their  approach  with  eager  anticipation, 
and  strained  ears  and  attention  to  catch  the 
conversation  that  passed  between  their  officer 
and  the  artilleryman.  And  a  thrill  of  disappoint- 
ment pulsed  down  the  line  at  the  gunner's  answer 
to  the  first  question  put  to  him.  '  No,'  he  said, 
'  I  have  orders  not  to  fire  unless  they  come  out 
of  the  trenches  to  attack.  We'll  give  'em  gyp 
if  they  try  it.  My  guns  are  laid  on  their  front 
trench  and  I  can  sweep  the  whole  of  this  front  with 
shrapnel.* 

*  But  why  not  shut  up  their  guns  and  put 
a  stop  to  this  ? '  asked  the  officer,  and  his 
platoon  fervently  echoed  the  question  in  their 
hearts. 

*  Not  my  pidgin,'  said  the  gunner,  cautiously 
peering  through  the  field-glasses  he  levelled  through 
a  convenient  loophole.  '  That's  the  Heavies'  job. 
I'm  Field,  and  my  guns  are  too  light  to  say  much 
to  these  fellows.  Look  out ! '  and  he  stooped 
low  in  the  trench  as  the  rising  rush  of  sound  told 
of  a  shell  coming  down  near  them. 

*  That's  about  an  eight-inch,'  he  said,  after 
the  shell  had  fallen  with  a  crash  behind  them,  a 
spout  of  earth  and  mud  leaping  up  and  spattering 
down    over    them    and    fragments    singing    and 


20  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

whizzing  overhead.  *  Just  tap  in  on  the  wire, 
Jackson,  and  raise  the  Battery.* 

The  telephonist  opened  his  case  and  Hfted 
out  his  instrument,  groped  along  the  trench  wall 
a  few  yards  and  found  his  wire,  joined  up  to  his 
instruments,  dashed  off  a  series  of  dots  and  dashes 
on  the  *  buzzer,'  and  spoke  into  his  mouthpiece. 
No.  2  Platoon  watched  in  fascinated  silence  and 
again  gave  all  their  attention  to  listening  as  the 
Artillery  officer  took  the  receiver. 

' .  .  .  That  you.  Major  ?  .  .  .  Yes,  this  is 
Arbuthnot.  ...  In  the  forward  firing  trench. 
.  .  .  Yes,  pretty  lively  .  .  .  big  stuff  they're 
flinging  mostly,  and  some  fourteen-pounder  shrap. 
.  .  .  No,  no  signs  of  a  move  in  their 
trenches.  ...  All  right,  sir,  I'll  take  care.  I 
can't  see  very  well  from  here,  so  I'm  going  to 
move  along  a  bit.  .  .  .  Very  well,  sir,  I'll  tap 
in  again  higher  up.  .  .  .  Good-bye.'  He  handed 
back  the  instrument  to  the  telephonist.  *  Pack 
up  again,'  he  said,  '  and  come  along.' 

When  he  had  gone  No.  2  Platoon  turned 
eagerly  on  the  telephonist,  and  he  ran  a  gauntlet 
of  anxious  questions  as  he  followed  the  Forward 
Officer.  Nine  out  of  ten  of  the  questions  were  to 
the  same  purpose,  and  the  gunner  answered  them 


SHELLS  2r 

with  some  sharpness.  He  turned  angrily  at  last  on 
one  man  who  put  the  query  in  broad  Scots  accent, 

*  No,'  he  said  tartly,  '  we  ain't  tryin'  to  silence 
their  guns.  An'  if  you  par  tickler  wants  to  know 
why  we  ain't — well,  p'raps  them  Glasgow  townies 
o'  yours  can  tell  you.' 

He  went  on  and  No.  2  Platoon  sank  to  grim 
silence.  The  meaning  of  the  gunner's  words  were 
plain  enough  to  all,  for  had  not  the  papers  spoken 
for  weeks  back  of  the  Clyde  strikes  and  the 
shortage  of  munitions  ?  And  the  thoughts  of  all 
were  pithily  put  in  the  one  sentence  by  a  private 
of  No.  2  Platoon. 

*I'd  stop  cheerful  in  this  blanky  'ell  for  a 
week,'  he  said  slowly,  *  if  so  be  I  'ad  them  strikers 
'ere  alongside  me  gettin'  the  same  dose.' 

All  this  time  there  had  been  a  constant  al- 
though not  a  heavy  rifle  fire  on  the  trenches.  It 
had  not  done  much  damage,  because  the  Koyal 
Blanks  were  exposing  themselves  as  little  as 
possible  and  keeping  low  down  in  their  narrow 
trenches.  But  now  the  German  rifles  began  to 
speak  faster,  and  the  fire  rose  to  a  dull  roar. 
The  machine-guns  joined  in,  their  sharp  rat-tat-tat 
soimding  hard  and  distinct  above  the  rifles.  As 
the  volume  of  rifle  fiie  increased,  so,  for  a  minute. 


22  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

did  the  shell  fire,  until  the  whole  line  of  the  Royal 
Blanks'  trenches  was  vibrating  to  the  crash  of 
the  shells  and  humming  with  rifle  bullets  which 
whizzed  overhead  or  smacked  with  loud  whip- 
crack  reports  into  the  parapet. 

The  officer  of  No.  2  Platoon  hitched  himself 
higher  on  the  parapet  and  hoisted  a  periscope 
over  it.  Almost  instantly  a  bullet  struck  it, 
shattering  the  glass  to  fragments.  He  lowered 
it  and  hastily  fitted  a  new  glass,  pausing  every 
few  moments  to  bob  his  head  up  over  the  parapet 
and  glance  hastily  across  at  the  German  trench. 
A  second  time  he  raised  his  instrument  to  position 
and  in  less  than  a  minute  it  was  shot  away  for 
a  second  time. 

The  Artillery  officer  came  hurrying  and  stumb- 
ling back  along  the  trench,  his  telephonist  labouring 
behind  him.  They  stopped  at  the  place  where 
they  had  tapped  in  before  and  the  telephonist 
busied  himself  connecting  up  his  instrument. 
The  Artillery  officer  flung  himself  down  beside 
the  Platoon  commander.  '  My  confounded  wii-e 
cut  again,'  he  panted,  '  just  when  I  want  it  too. 
Sounds  as  if  they  meant  a  rush,  eh  ? '  The 
infantryman  nodded.  *  Will  they  stop  shelhng 
before  they  rush  ? '  he  shouted. 


SHELLS  23 

*  Not  till  their  men  are  well  out  in  front. 
Their  guns  can  keep  going  over  their  heads  for  a 
bit.  Are  you  through,  Jackson  ?  Tell  the  Battery 
to  "  eyes  front."     It  looks  like  an  attack.' 

The  telephonist  repeated  the  message,  listened 
a    moment    and    commenced,    *  The  Major    says, 

sir '    when    his    officer    interrupted    sharply, 

*  Three  rounds  gun-fire — quick.' 

*  Three  rounds  gun-fire — quick,  sir,'  bellowed 
the  telephonist  into  his  mouthpiece. 

*  Here  they  come,  lads.  Let  'em  have  it,' 
yelled  the  Platoon  commander,  and  commenced 
himself  to  fire  through  a  loophole. 

At  the  same  moment  there  came  from  the 
rear  the  quick  thudding  reports  of  the  British 
guns,  the  rush  of  their  shells  overhead,  and  the 
sharp  crash  of  their  shells  over  the  German 
parapets. 

'  All  fired,  sir,'  called  the  telephonist. 

*  Battery  fire  one  second,'  the  Observing  Officer 
shouted  without  turning  his  head  from  his  watch 
over  the  parapet. 

*  Number  one  fired — two  fired — three  fired,' 
the  signaller  called  rapidly,  and  the  Observing 
Officer  watched  narrowly  the  white  cotton- wool 
clouds  of  the  bursting  shrapnel  of  his  guns. 


24  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

'Number  three,  ten  minutes  more  right — all 
guns,  drop  twenty-five — repeat,'  he  ordered,  and 
in  swift  obedience  the  guns  began  to  drop  their 
shrapnel  showers,  sweeping  along  the  ground  in 
front  of  the  German  trench. 

But  the  expected  rush  of  Germans  hung  fire. 
A  line  of  bobbing  heads  and  shoulders  had  showed 
above  their  parapet  and  only  a  few  scattered 
groups  had  clambered  over  its  top. 

'  They're  beat,'  shouted  the  infantry  officer, 
exultingly.  '  They're  dodging  back.  Give  it  to 
'em,  boys — give  it — oto  ! '  He  broke  ofi  and  ducked 
down  with  a  hand  clapped  to  his  cheek  where  a 
bullet  had  scored  its  way. 

*  Get  down  !  get  down  !  Make  your  men  get 
down,'    said   the   gunner   officer   rapidly.      ^It's 

clJJ.     •     •     • 

Again  there  came  the  swishing  rush  of  the 
light  shells,  a  series  of  quick-following  bangs,  and 
a  hail  of  shrapnel  tearing  across  the  trench,  before 
the  men  had  time  to  duck. 

'  All  a  false  alarm — just  a  dodge  to  get  your 
men's  heads  up  within  reach  of  their  Fizz-Bangs' 
shrapnel,'  said  the  artilleryman,  and  called  to 
the  signaller.  '  All  guns  raise  twenty-five.  Section 
fire  five  seconds.  .  .  .  Hullo — hit  ? '  he  continued 


SHELLS  25 

to  the  Platoon  officer,  as  he  noticed  him  wiping 
a  smear  of  blood  from  his  cheek. 

'  Just  a  nice  little  scratch/  said  the  lad, 
grinning.  *  Enough  to  let  me  swank  about  being 
wounded  and  show  off  a  pretty  scar  to  my  best 
girl  when  the  war's  over.' 

*  Afraid  that  last  shrapnel  burst  gave  some 
of  your  fellows  more'n  a  pretty  scar,'  said  the 
gunner.  *  But  I  suppose  I'd  better  slow  my 
guns  up  again.  .  .  .  Jackson,  tell  them  the  attack's 
evidently  stopped — section  fire  ten  seconds.' 

*  Can't  you  keep  on  belting  'em  for  a  bit  ? ' 
asked  the  Platoon  officer.  *  Might  make  'em 
ease  up  on  us.' 

The  gunner  shook  his  head  regretfully. 

*  I'd  ask  nothing  better,'  he  said.  *  I  could 
just  give  those  trenches  beans.  But  our 
orders  are  strict,  and  we  daren't  waste  a  round 
on  anything  but  an  attack.  I'll  bet  that's  my 
Major  wanting  to  know  if  he  can't  slack  off  a 
bit  more,'  he  continued,  as  the  signaller  called 
something  about  *  Wanted  to  speak  here,  sir.' 

He  went  to  the  instrument  and  held  a  short 
conversation.  *  Told  you  so,'  he  said,  when  he 
returned  to  the  infantry  officer.  *  No  attack 
— no  shells.    We're  stopping  again.' 


26  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

'  Doesn't  seem  to  be  too  much  stop  about 
the  Germs,'  grumbled  the  infantryman,  as  another 
series  of  crackhng  shells  shook  the  ground  close 
behind  them.  He  moved  down  the  line  speaking 
a.  few  words  here  and  there  to  the  crouching  men 
of  his  platoon. 

'This  is  getting  serious,'  he  said  when  he 
came  back  to  his  place.  *  There's  more  than  the 
half  of  my  lot  hit,  and  the  most  of  them  pretty 
badly.  These  shrapnel  bullets  and  shell  splinters 
make  a  shocking  mess  of  a  wound,  y'know.' 

*  Yes,'  said  the  gunner  grimly,  *  I  know.' 

*  A  perfectly  brutal  mess,'  the  subaltern  re- 
peated. 'A  bullet  now  is  more  or  less  decent, 
but  those  shells  of  theirs,  they  don't  give  a  man 
a  chance  to  pull  through.' 

*  Ours  are  as  bad,  if  that's  any  satisfaction 
to  you,'  said  the  gunner. 

*  I  s'pose  so,'  agreed  the  subaltern.  *  Ghastly 
sort  of  game  altogether,  isn't  it  ?  Those  poor 
fellows  of  mine  now — the  killed,  I  mean.  Think 
of  their  fathers  and  mothers  and  wives  or  sweet- 
hearts  ' 

*  I'd  rather  not,'  said  the  gunner.  *  And  I 
shouldn't  advise  you  to.  Better  not  to  think  of 
these  tilings.' 


SHELLS  27 

*  I  wish  they'd  come  again,'  said  the  Platoon 
commander.  *  It  would  stop  the  shells  for  a  bit 
perhaps.  They're  getting  on  my  nerves.  One's 
so  helpless  against  them,  sticking  here  waiting  to 
know  where  the  next  wiU  drop.  And  they  don't 
even  give  a  fellow  the  ordinary  four  to  one  chance 
of  a  casualty  being  a  wound  only.  They  make 
such  a  cruel  messy  smash  of  a  fellow.  .  .  .  Axe 
you  going  ? ' 

*  Must  find  that  break  in  my  wire,'  said  the 
gunner,  and  presently  he  and  the  telephonist 
ploughed  off  along  the  trench. 

The  bombardment  continued  with  varying 
intensity  throughout  the  day.  There  was  no 
grand  finale,  no  spectacular  rush  or  charge,  no 
crashing  assault,  no  heroic  hand-to-hand  combats 
— no  anything  but  the  long-drawn  agony  of  lying 
still  and  being  hammered  by  the  crashing  shells. 
This  was  no  '  artillery  preparation  for  the  assault,' 
although  the  Royal  Blanks  did  not  know  that 
and  so  dare  not  stir  from  the  danger  zone  of  the 
forward  trench.  They  were  not  even  to  have 
the  satisfaction  of  giving  back  some  of  the  punish- 
ment they  had  endured,  or  the  glory — a  glory 
carefully  concealed  from  their  friends  at  home, 
and  mostly  lost  by  the  disguising  or  veiling  of 


28  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

their  identity  in  the  newspapers,  but  still  a  glory 
— of  taking  a  trench  or  making  a  successful  attack 
or  counter-attack.  It  was  merely  another  '  heavy 
artillery  bombardment,'  lived  through  and  endured 
all  unknown,  as  so  many  have  been  endured. 

The  Royal  Blanks  were  relieved  at  nightfall 
when  the  fire  had  died  down.  The  Artillery  Ob- 
serving Officer  was  just  outside  the  communication 
trench  at  the  relief  hour  and  saw  the  casualties 
being  helped  or  carried  out.  A  stretcher  passed 
and  the  figure  on  it  had  a  muddy  and  dark-stained 
blanket  spread  over,  and  an  officer's  cap  and 
binoculars  on  top. 

*  An  officer  ?  '  asked  the  gunner.    '  Who  is  it  ?  ' 
*Mr.   Grant,   sir,'   said  one  of  the  stretcher- 
bearers  dully.    *  No.  2  Platoon.' 

The  gunner  noted  the  empty  sag  of  the  blanket 
where  the  head  and  shoulders  should  have  been 
outlined  and  checked  the  half-formed  question 
of  *  Badly  hit  ?  '  to  '  How  was  it  ?  ' 

*  Shell,  sir.  A  Fizz-Bang  hit  the  parapet  just 
where  'e  was  lyin'.    Caught  'im  fair.' 

The  bearers  moved  on,  leaving  the  gunner 
groping  in  his  memory  for  a  sentence  in  the  young- 
ster's last  talk  he  had  heard.  *  Ghastly  business 
.  .  .  cruel  messy  smash,'  he  murmured. 


SHELLS  29 

*  Beg  pardon,  sir  ?  *  said  the  telephonist. 

The  Forward  Officer  made  no  answer  but 
continued  to  stare  after  the  disappearing  stretcher- 
bearers.  The  signaller  shuffled  his  feet  in  the 
mud  and  hitched  up  the  strap  of  the  instrument 
on  his  shoulder. 

'  I  suppose  it's  all  over  now,  sir,'  he  said. 

*  Yes,  all  over — except  for  his  father,  or  mother, 
or  sweetheart,'  said  the  officer  absently. 

The  signaller  stared.  *  I  meant  the  shellin', 
sir.' 

*  Oh — ah,  yes  ;  the  shelling,  Jackson.  Yes, 
I  dare  say  that's  over  for  to-night,  since  they 
seem  to  have  stopped  now.' 

*  P'raps  we  might  see  about  some  food,  sir,* 
said  the  signaller. 

'  Food — to  be  sure,'  said  the  officer  briskly. 
*  Eat,  drink,  and  be  merry,  Jackson,  for — I'm 
hungry  too,  now  I  think  of  it.  And,  oh  Lord, 
I'm  tired.' 

No.  2  Platoon  were  tired  too,  as  they  filed 
wearily  out  by  the  communication  trench,  tired 
and  worn  out  mentally  and  physically — and  yet 
not  too  tired  or  too  broken  for  a  light  word  or  a 
jest.  From  the  darkness  behind  them  a  German 
flare  soared  up  and  burst,  tin-owing  up  bushes 


30  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

and  siiattered  buildings,  sandbag  parapets,  broken 
tree-stumps,  sticks  and  stones  in  luminous- 
edged  silhouette.  A  machine-gun  burst  into  a 
stutter  of  fire,  the  reports  sounding  faint  at 
first  and  louder  and  louder  as  the  muzzle  swept 
round  in  its  arc.  '  Ssh-sh-sh-sh,'  the  bullets 
swept  overhead,  and  No.  2  Platoon  halted  and 
crouched  low  in  the  shallow  communication 
trench. 

*  Oh,  shut  it,  blast  ye,'  growled  one  of  the 
men  disgustedly.  *  Ain't  we  'ad  enough  for  one 
day?' 

*  It's  only  'im  singin'  'is  little  evenin'  hymn 
as  usual,'  said  another. 

'  Just  sayin'  'is  good-bye  an'  sendin'  a  few 
partin'  sooveniers ' ;  and  another  sang  *  Say  aw 
rev- wore,  bat  not  good-bye.' 

*  Stop  that  howhng  there,'  a  sergeant  called 
down  the  Hne,  *  and  stop  smoking  those  cigarettes 
and  talking.' 

*  Certainly,  sergeant,'  a  voice  came  back.  *  An' 
please  sergeant,  will  you  allow  us  to  keep  on 
breathin'  ? ' 

The  light  died,  and  the  Hne  rose  and  moved 
on,  squelching  softly  in  the  mud.  A  man  clapped 
a  hand  to  his  pocket,  half  halted  and  exclaimed 


SHELLS  31 

in  annoyance.  *  Blest  if  I  'aven't  left  my  mouth- 
organ  back  there,'  he  said.  '  Hutt ! '  said  his 
next  file.  *  Be  glad  ye've  a  mouth  left,  or  a  head 
to  have  a  mouth.  It  might  be  worse,  an'  ye 
might  be  left  back  there  yerself  decoratin'  about 
ten  square  yards  of  trench.' 

'  Tut-tut-tut-tut '  went  the  maxim  behind 
them  again. 

*  Tutt-tutt  yourself,  you  stammer-an'-spit 
bUghter,'  said  the  disconsolate  mouth-organ  loser, 
and  *  D'you  think  we  can  chance  a  smoke  yet  ?  ' 
as  the  platoon  moved  out  on  the  road  and  behind 
the  shelter  of  some  ruined  house- walls. 

Platoon  by  platoon  the  company  filed  out 
and  formed  up  roughly  behind  the  houses.  The 
order  to  move  came  at  last  and  the  ranked  fours 
swung  o£E,  tramping  slowly  and  stohdly  in  silence 
until  some  one  struck  up  a  song — 

'  Crump,  crump,  crump,  says  the  big  hustin'  shells * 

A  chorus  of  protest  and  a  '  Give  the  shells 
a  rest'  stopped  the  song  on  the  first  line,  and 
it  was  to  the  old  regimental  tune,  the  canteen 
and  sing-song  favourite,  '  The  Sergeant's  Return,' 
that  the  Royal  Blanks  settled  itself  into  its  pack 
shoulder-straps  and  tramped  on. 


32  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

I'm  the  same  ol'  feller  that  you  always  used  to  know — 

Oh  !    Oh  !    you  know  you  used  to  know — 
An'  it's  years  since  we  parted  way  down  on  Plymouth  Hoe — 

Oh  !    Oh  !    So  many  years  ago. 
I've  roamed  around  the  world,  but  I've  come  back  to  you, 
For  my  'eart  'as  never  altered,  my  'eart  is  ever  true. 
[Prolonged  and  noisy  imitation  of  a  kiss.] 
Ain't  that  got  the  taste  you  always  used  to  know  1 

The  colonel  was  talking  to  the  adjutant  in 
the  road  as  the  companies  moved  past,  and  he 
noted  with  some  concern  the  ragged  ranks  and 
listless  movement  of  the  first  lot  to  pass. 

'  They're  looking  badly  tucked  up,'  he  said. 

*  They've  had  a  cruel  day,'  said  the  adjutant. 

'  Yes,  the  worst  kind,'  agreed  the  O.C.  '  And 
I  doubt  if  they  can  stand  that  sort  of  thing  so 
well  now.  The  old  regiment  is  not  what  it  used 
to  be.  We're  so  filled  up  with  recruits  now — 
youngsters  too.  .  .  .  Here's  B  company — about 
the  rawest  of  the  lot  and  caught  the  worst  of  it 
to-day.    How  d'you  think  they  stand  it  ?  ' 

But  it  was  B  company  that  answered  the 
question  for  itself  and  the  old  regiment,  singing 
the  answer  softly  to  itself  and  the  O.C.  as  it  trudged 
past — 

I'm  the  same  ol'  feller  that  you  always  used  to  know — 
Oh !    Oh !   you  know  you  used  to  know.  .  .  . 


SHELLS  33 

*  Gad,   Malcolm/   said   the   O.C.  straightening 
his  own  shoulders,  '  they'll  do,  they'll  do.' 

.  •  .  My  'eart  'as  never  altered,  my  'eart  is  ever  true, 

the  remnant  of  No.  2  Platoon  sang  past  him. 

*  They  haven't  shaken  us  yet,'  said  the  O.C. 
proudly. 

*  Tutt,   tutt ! '   grumbled   the   maxim   faintly. 
'  Tutt,  tutt ! ' 


THE  MINE 

*.  .  ,  a  mine  was  successfully  exploded  under 
a  section  of  the  enemy's  trench.  .  ,  / — Actual 
Extract  from  an  Official  Despatch. 

Work  on  the  sap-head  had  been  commenced 
on  what  the  Captain  of  the  Sappers  called 
*a  beautiful  night/  and  what  anyone  else  out- 
side a  lunatic  asylum  would  have  described  with 
the  strongest  adjectives  available  in  exactly  the 
opposite  sense.  A  piercing  wind  was  blowing  in 
gusts  of  driving  sleet  and  rain,  it  was  pitch  dark 
— *  black  as  the  inside  of  a  cow/  as  the  Corporal 
put  it — and  it  was  bitterly  cold.  But,  since  all 
these  conditions  are  exactly  those  most  calculated 
to  make  difficult  the  work  of  an  enemy's  sentries 
and  look-outs,  and  the  first  work  of  sinking  a 
shaft  is  one  which  it  is  highly  desirable  should  be 
unobserved  by  an  enemy,  the  Sapper  Captain's 
satisfaction  may  be  understood. 

The  sap-head  was  situated  amongst  the  ruina 


THE  MINE  35 

of  a  cottage  a  few  yards  behind  tlie  forward  firing 
trench,  and  by  the  time  a  wet  daylight  had  dawned 
the  Sappers  had  dug  themselves  well  under- 
ground, had  securely  planked  up  the  walls  of  the 
shaft,  and  had  cut  a  connecting  gallery  from  the 
ruins  to  the  communication  trench.  All  this 
meant  that  their  work  was  fairly  free  from  observa- 
tion, and  the  workers  reasonably  safe  from  bombs 
and  bullets,  so  that  the  officer  in  charge  had  good 
cause  for  the  satisfaction  with  which  he  made  his 
first  report. 

His  first  part  of  the  work  had  been  a  matter 
of  plans  and  maps,  of  compass  and  level,  of 
observing  the  ground — incidentally  dodging  the 
bullets  of  the  German  snipers  who  caught  ghmpses 
of  his  crawhng  form — by  day,  and  of  intricate 
and  exact  figuring  and  calculating  by  night,  in 
the  grimy  cellar  of  another  ruined  house  by  the 
light  of  a  candle,  stuck  in  an  empty  bottle. 

Thereafter  he  spent  all  his  waking  hours  (and 
many  of  his  sleeping  ones  as  well)  in  a  thick  suit 
of  clayey  mud ;  he  lived  Hke  a  mole  in  his  mine 
gallery  or  his  underground  cellar,  saw  the  fight 
only  when  he  emerged  to  pass  from  his  work  to 
his  sleep  or  meals,  and  back  to  his  work,  and 
generally  gave  himself,  his  whole  body  and  brain 


36  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

and  being,  to  the  correct  driving  of  a  shallow 
burrow  straight  to  the  selected  point  under  the 
enemy  trench  a  hundred  and  odd  yards  away. 
He  was  a  youngish  man,  and  this  was  the  first 
job  of  any  importance  that  had  been  wholly  and 
solely  entrusted  to  him.  It  was  not  only  his 
anxiety  to  make  a  creditable  showing,  but  he 
was  keen  on  the  work  for  the  work's  own  sake, 
and  he  revelled  in  the  creative  sense  of  the  true 
artist.  The  mine  was  his.  He  had  first  suggested 
it,  he  had  surveyed  it,  and  plotted  it,  and  measured 
and  planned  and  worked  it  out  on  paper ;  and 
now,  when  it  came  to  the  actual  pick-and-shovel 
work,  he  supervised  and  directed  and  watched 
each  hour  of  work,  and  each  yard  of  progress. 

It  was  tricky  work,  too,  and  troublesome. 
At  first  the  ground  was  good  stiff  clay  that  the 
spades  bit  out  in  clean  mouthfuls,  and  that  left 
a  fair  firm  wall  behind.  But  that  streak  ran  out 
in  the  second  day's  working,  and  the  mine  burrowed 
ihto  some  horrible  soft  crumbly  soil  that  had  to  be 
held  up  and  back  by  roof  and  wall  of  planking. 
The  Subaltern  took  a  party  himself  and  looted 
the  wi'ecks  of  houses — there  was  no  lack  of  these 
in  the  village  just  behind  the  fines — of  roof-beams 
and   flooring,   and   measured   and  marked   them 


THE  MINE  37 

for  sawing  into  lengths,  and  would  have  taken  a 
saw  with  pleasure  himself. 

Then  he  dived  cheerfully  into  the  oozing  wet 
burrow  and  superintended  the  shoring  up,  and 
re-started  the  men  to  digging,  and  emerged  a 
moment  to  see  more  planking  passed  down.  He 
came  in  fact  dangerously  near  to  making  a  nuisance 
of  himself,  and  some  of  his  men  who  had  been 
sapping  and  mining  for  wet  and  weary  months 
past  were  inchned  to  resent  quite  so  much  fussing 
round  and  superintendence.  But  the  Corporal 
put  that  right.  He  was  an  elderly  man  with  a 
nasty  turn  of  temper  that  had  got  him  into 
almost  as  many  troubles  in  his  service  as  his  know- 
ledge, experience,  and  aptitude  for  hard  work  and 
responsibility  had  got  him  out  of. 

*  Leave  the  lad  be,'  he  had  said  when  some 
of  the  party  had  passed  grumbling  remarks 
about  'too  bloomin'  much  fuss  an'  feathers  over 
a  straight  simple  bloomin'  job.'  The  Corporal 
had  promptly  squashed  that  opinion.  *  Leave 
the  lad  be,'  he  said.  '  He's  young  to  the  job, 
mebbe,  but  he's  not  such  a  simple  fool  as  some 
that  take  this  for  a  simple  job.  It's  not  goin' 
to  be  all  that  simple,  as  you'll  find  before  you're 
done.' 


38  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

He  was  right,  too.  The  crumbling  soil  was  one 
little  difficulty  promptly  and  easily  met.  The 
next  was  more  troublesome.  The  soil  grew  wetter 
and  more  wet  until  at  last  the  men  were  working 
ankle  deep  in  water.  The  further  the  mine  went 
the  wetter  it  became.  The  men  worked  on,  taking 
their  turn  at  the  narrow  face,  shovelling  out  the 
wet  muck  and  dragging  it  back  to  the  shaft  and 
up  and  out  and  away  by  the  communication 
trench.  They  squeezed  aside  in  silence  when  the 
Subaltern  pushed  in  to  inspect  the  working,  and 
waited  with  side  winks  to  one  another  to  see 
what  he  would  do  to  overcome  the  water  difficulty. 
'  Pumps '  would  of  course  have  been  the  simple 
answer,  but  the  men  knew  as  well  as  the  Subaltern 
knew  that  pumps  were  not  to  be  had  at  that 
particular  time  and  place  for  love  or  money,  and 
that  all  the  filling  of  all  the  *  indents  *  in  the 
R.E.  would  not  produce  one  single  efficient  pump 
from  store. 

The  Subaltern  did  not  trouble  with  indent 
forms  or  stores.  He  had  had  something  of  a 
fight  to  get  a  grudging  permission  for  his  mine, 
and  he  felt  it  in  his  bones  that  if  he  worried  the 
big  chiefs  too  much  with  requisitions  he  would 
be  told  to  abandon  the  mine.    He  shut  his  teeth 


THE  MINE  39 

tight  at  the  thought.  It  was  his  mine  and  he 
was  going  to  see  it  through,  if  he  had  to  bale 
the  water  out  with  a  tea-cup. 

He  made  a  quick  cast  through  the  shell-wrecked 
vilkge,  drew  blank,  sat  for  fifteen  minutes  on 
the  curb  of  a  rubble-choked  well  and  thought 
hard,  jumped  up  and  called  the  Corporal  to  provide 
him  with  four  men  and  some  odd  tools,  and  struck 
back  across  muddy  and  s hell-era tered  fields  to 
the  nearest  farm.  The  farmer,  who  had  remained 
in  possession  despite  the  daily  proximity  of  bursting 
shells,  a  shrapnel-smashed  tile  roof,  and  a  gaping 
hole  where  one  house-comer  should  have  been, 
made  some  objection  to  the  commandeering  of 
his  old-fashioned  farm  pump.  He  was  at  first 
supported  in  this  by  the  ofl&cer  in  charge  of  the 
men  billeted  in  the  barn  and  sheds,  but  the  Sapper 
explained  the  urgency  of  his  need  and  cunningly 
clinched  the  argument  by  reminding  the  Infantry 
officer  that  probably  he  and  his  men  would  soon 
be  installed  in  the  trenches  from  which  the  mine 
ran,  and  that  he — the  Sapper — although  he  was 
not  supposed  to  mention  it,  might  just  hint  that 
his  mine  was  only  hurrying  to  forestall  an  enemy 
mine  which  was  judged  to  be  approaching  the 
trench  the  Infantry  officer  would  presently  occupy. 


40  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

This  last  was  a  sheer  invention  of  the  moment, 
but  it  served  excellently,  and  the  Sapper  and 
his  party  bore  ofi  their  pump  in  triumph.  It 
was  later  erected  in  the  mine  shaft,  and  the 
difficulty  of  providing  sufficient  piping  to  run 
from  the  pump  to  the  waterlogged  part  of  the 
mine  was  met  by  a  midnight  visit  to  the  house 
where  Headquarters  abode  and  the  wholesale 
removal  of  gutters  and  rain-pipes.  As  Head- 
quarters had  its  principal  residence  in  a  commodious 
and  cobwebby  cellar,  the  absence  of  the  gutters 
fortunately  passed  without  remark,  and  the  sentry 
who  watched  the  looting  and  the  sergeant  to 
whom  he  reported  it  were  quite  satisj&ed  by  the 
presence  of  an  Engineer  officer  and  his  calm 
assurance  that  it  was  '  all  right — orders — an 
Engineers'  job.' 

The  pump  did  its  work  excellently,  and  a  steady 
stream  of  muddy  water  gushed  from  its  nozzle 
and  flowed  down  the  Headquarters  gutter-pipes 
to  a  selected  spot  well  behind  the  trenches.  Unfor- 
tunately the  pump,  being  old-fashioned,  was 
somewhat  noisy,  and  all  the  packing  and  oihng 
and  tinkering  failed  to  silence  its  clank-cHnk, 
clank-chnk,  as  its  arm  rose  and  fell. 

The  nearest  German  trench  caught  the  clank- 


THE  MINE  41 

clink,  and  by  a  simple  process  of  deduction  and 
elimination  arrived  at  its  meaning  and  its  location. 
The  pump  and  the  pumpers  led  a  troubled  life 
after  that.  Snipers  kept  an  unsteady  but  never 
silent  series  of  bullets  smacking  into  the  stones 
of  the  ruin,  whisthng  over  the  communication 
trench,  and  *  whupp'-ing  into  the  mud  around 
both.  A  Hght  gun  took  a  hand  and  plumped  a 
number  of  rounds  each  day  into  the  crumb Ung 
walls  and  rubbish-heaps  of  stone  and  brick,  and 
burst  shrapnel  all  over  the  lot.  The  Sappers 
dodged  the  snipers  by  keeping  tight  and  close 
to  cover  ;  they  frustrated  the  direct-hitting  *  Fizz- 
Bang  '  shells  by  a  stout  barricade  of  many  thick- 
nesses of  sandbags  bolstering  up  the  fragment 
of  wall  that  hid  their  shaft  and  pump,  and  finally 
they  erected  a  low  roof  over  the  works  and  sand- 
bagged that  secure  against  the  shrapnel.  There 
were  casualties  of  course,  but  these  are  always  in 
the  way  of  business  with  the  Sappers  and  came 
as  a  matter  of  course.  The  Germans  brought 
up  a  trench-mortar  next  and  flung  noisy  and 
nerve-wrecking  high -explosive  bombs  into  and  all 
round  the  ruin,  bursting  down  all  the  remaining 
walls  except  the  sandbagged  one  and  scoring 
a  few  more  casualties  until  the  forward  trench 


42  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

installed  a  trench -mortar  of  their  own,  and  by  a 
generous  return  of  two  bombs  to  the  enemy's 
one  put  the  German  out  of  action.  A  big  min- 
nenwerfer  came  into  play  next,  and  because  it 
could  throw  a  murderous-sized  bomb  from  far 
behind  the  German  trench  it  was  too  much  for 
the  British  trench -mortar  to  tackle.  This  brought 
the  gunners  into  the  game,  and  the  harassed 
infantry  (who  were  coming  to  look  on  the  Sapper 
Subaltern  and  his  works  as  an  unmitigated  nuisance 
and  a  most  undesirable  acquaintance  who  drew 
more  than  a  fair  share  of  enemy  fire  on  them) 
appealed  to  the  guns  to  rid  them  of  their  latest 
tormentor.  An  Artillery  Observing  Officer  spent 
a  perilous  hour  or  two  amongst  the  shrapnel  and 
snipers'  bullets  on  top  of  the  sandbagged  wall,  until 
he  had  located  the  minnenwerfer.  Then  about 
two  minutes'  telephoned  talk  to  the  Battery  and 
ten  minutes  of  spouting  lyddite  volcanoes  finished 
the  minnenwerfer  trouble.  But  all  this  above- 
ground  work  was  by  way  of  an  aside  to  the  Sapper 
Subaltern.  He  was  far  too  busy  with  his  mine 
gallery  to  worry  about  the  doings  of  gunners  and 
bomb-throwers  and  infantry  and  such-like  fellows. 
When  these  people  interfered  with  his  work  they 
were  a  nuisance  of  course,  but  he  always  managed 


THE  MINE  43 

to  find  a  working  party  for  the  sandbagging  pro- 
tective work  without  stopping  the  job  under- 
ground. 

So  the  gallery  crept  steadily  on.  They  had 
to  carry  the  tunnel  rather  close  to  the  surface 
because  at  very  Uttle  depth  they  struck  more 
water  than  any  pumps,  much  less  their  single 
farmyard  one,  could  cope  with.  The  nearness 
to  the  surface  made  a  fresh  difficulty  and  necessi- 
tated the  greatest  care  in  working  under  the 
ground  between  the  trenches,  because  here  there 
were  always  deep  shell-holes  and  craters  to  be 
avoided  or  floored  with  the  planking  that  made 
the  tunnel  roof.  So  the  gallery  had  to  be  driven 
carefully  at  a  level  below  the  danger  of  exposure 
through  a  shell-hole  and  above  the  depth  at  which 
the  water  lay.  This  meant  a  tunnel  too  low  to 
stand  or  even  kneel  in  with  a  straight  back,  and 
the  men,  kneehng  in  mud,  crouched  back  on  their 
heels  and  with  rounded  back  and  shoulders,  struck 
their  spades  forward  into  the  face  and  dragged 
the  earth  out  spadeful  by  spadeful.  Despite 
the  numbing  cold  mud  they  knelt  in,  the  men, 
stripped  to  shirts  with  rolled  sleeves  and  open 
throats,  streamed  rivulets  of  sweat  as  they  worked ; 
for  the  air  was  close  and  thick  and  heavy,  and  the 


44  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

exertion  in  the  cramped  space  was  one  long  muscle- 
racking  strain. 

Once  the  roof  and  walls  caved  in,  and  three 
men  were  imprisoned.  The  collapse  came  during 
the  night,  fortunately,  and,  still  more  fortunately 
behind  the  line  and  parapet  of  the  forward  trench. 
The  Subaltern  flung  himself  and  his  men  on  the 
muddy  wreckage  in  frantic  haste  to  clear  an 
opening  and  admit  air  to  the  imprisoned  men. 
It  took  time,  a  heart-breaking  length  of  time,* 
and  it  was  with  a  horrible  dread  in  his  heart  that 
the  Subaltern  at  last  pushed  in  to  the  uncovered 
opening  and  crawled  along  the  tunnel,  flashing 
his  electric  torch  before  him.  Half-way  to  the 
end  he  felt  a  draught  of  cold  air,  and,  promptly 
extinguishing  his  lamp,  saw  a  hole  in  the  roof. 
His  men  were  ahve  all  right,  and  not  only  aUve 
but  keeping  on  hard  at  work  at  the  end  of  the 
tunnel.  ^Vhen  the  collapse  came  they  had  gone 
back  to  where  their  roof  lay  across  the  bottom 
of  a  shell-hole,  pulled  a  plank  out,  and — gone 
back  to  work. 

When  the  tunnel  reached  a  point  under  the 
German  parapet  it  was  turned  sharp  to  left  and 
right,  forming  a  capital  T  with  the  cross-piece 
running   roughly    along   the   line   of   trench    and 


THE  MINE  45 

parapet.  Here  there  was  need  of  the  utmost 
dehberation  and  caution.  A  pick  could  not  be 
used,  and  even  a  spade  had  to  be  handled  gently, 
in  case  the  sounds  of  working  should  reach  the 
Grermans  overhead.  In  some  places  the  Sub- 
altern could  actually  hear  the  movements  and 
footsteps  of  the  enemy  just  above  him. 

Twice  the  diggers  disturbed  a  dead  German, 
buried  evidently  under  the  parapet.  Once  a 
significant  crumbling  of  the  earth  and  fall  of  a 
few  heavy  clods  threatened  a  collapse  where  the 
gallery  was  under  the  edge  of  the  trench.  The 
spot  was  hastily  but  securely  shored  up  wilji 
infinite  caution  and  the  least  possible  sound,  and 
after  that  the  Subaltern  had  the  explosive  charges 
brought  along  and  connected  up  in  readiness. 
Then,  if  the  roof  collapsed  or  their  work  were 
discovered,  the  switch  at  the  shaft  could  still  be 
pressed,  the  wires  would  still  carry  the  current, 
and  the  mine  would  be  exploded. 

At  last  the  Subaltern  decided  that  everything 
was  ready.  He  carefully  placed  his  charges, 
connected  up  his  wires  again,  cleared  out  his 
tools,  and  emerged  to  report  *  all  ready." 

Now  the  *  touching  ofi '  of  a  good-sized  mine 
is  not  a  matter  to  be  done  lightly  or  without  due 


46  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

and  weighty  authority,  and  that  because  more 
is  meant  to  result  from  it  than  the  upheaval  of 
some  square  yards  of  earth  and  the  destruction 
of  so  many  yards  of  enemy  trench.  The  mine 
itself,  elaborate  and  labour-making  as  it  may  have 
been,  is,  after  all,  only  a  means  to  an  end.  That 
end  may  be  the  capture  of  a  portion  of  the  ruins 
of  the  trench,  it  may  be  the  destruction  of  an 
especially  strong  and  dangerous  *  keep,'  a  point 
of  resistance  or  an  angle  for  attack.  It  may  even 
be  a  mine  to  destroy  a  mine  which  is  known  to 
be  tunnelling  into  our  own  trenches,  but  in  any 
case  the  explosion  is  usually  a  signal  for  attack 
from  one  side  or  the  other,  and  therefore  requires 
all  the  usual  elaborate  arrangements  of  rein- 
forcements and  supports  and  so  on.  Therefore 
the  Sapper  Subaltern,  when  he  had  finished  his 
work  and  made  his  report,  had  nothing  to  do 
but  sit  down  and  wait  until  other  people's  pre- 
parations were  made,  and  he  received  orders  to 
complete  his  work  by  utterly  and  devastatingly 
destroying  it.  The  Subaltern  found  this  wait 
about  the  most  trying  part  of  the  whole  affair, 
more  especially  since  he  had  for  a  good  many 
days  and  nights  had  so  much  to  occupy  his  every 
moment. 


THE  MINE  47 

He  received  word  at  last  of  the  day  and  hour 
appointed  for  the  explosion,  and  had  the  honour  of 
a  visit  of  inspection  from  a  very  superior  officer 
who  pored  long  and  painstakingly  over  the  paper 
plans,  put  a  great  many  questions,  even  went  the 
length  of  walldng  down  the  communication  trench 
and  peering  down  the  entrance  shaft,  and  looking 
over  the  sandbagged  wall  through  a  periscope  at  the 
section  of  German  trench  marked  down  for  destruc- 
tion. Then  he  complimented  the  Subaltern  on 
his  work,  declined  once  again  the  offer  of  a  muddy 
mackintosh  and  an  invitation  to  crawl  down  the 
mine,  and  went  off.  The  Subaltern  saw  him  off 
the  premises,  returned  to  the  shaft  and  donned 
the  mackintosh,  and  crawled  off  up  his  tunnel 
once  more. 

Somehow,  now  that  the  whole  thing  was  finished 
and  ready,  he  felt  a  pang  of  reluctance  to  destroy 
it  and  so  fulfil  its  destiny.  As  he  crawled  along, 
he  noted  each  little  bit  of  shoring-up  and  sup- 
porting planks,  each  rise  and  fall  in  the  floor, 
each  twist  and  angle  in  the  direction,  and  recalled 
the  infinite  labour  of  certain  sections,  his  glows 
of  satisfaction  at  the  speed  of  progress  at  the 
easy  bits,  his  impatience  at  the  slow  and  difficult 
portions.    It  seemed  as  if  he  had  been  building 


48  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

that  tunnel  for  half  a  lifetime,  had  hardly  ever 
done  anything  else  but  build  it  or  think  about 
building  it.    And  now,  to-morrow  it  was  ail  to 
be  destroyed.    He  recalled  with  a  thrill  of  boyish 
pleasure  the  word  of  praise  from  the  Corporal — 
a  far  greater  pleasure,  by  the  way,  than  he  had 
derived  from  the  Great  One's  compHments — the 
praise  of  one  artist  to  another,  the  recognition  of 
good  work  done,  by  one  who  himself  had  helped 
in  many  good  works  and  knew  well  of  what  he 
spoke.    *  She's  done,  sir,'  the  Corporal  had  said 
*  And  if  I  may  say  so,  sir,  she's  a  credit  to  you.    A 
mighty  tricky  job,  sir,  and  I've  seen  plenty  with 
long  years  in  the  Service  that  would  ha'  been 
stumped  at  times.    Fm  glad  to  have  had  a  hand 
in  it  wi'  you,  sir.    And  all  the  men  feel  the  same 
way  about  it.' 

Ah  well,  the  Subaltern  thought  as  he  halted 
at  the  joint  of  the  T-piece,  none  of  them  felt  the 
same  about  it  as  he  himself  did.  He  squatted 
there  a  moment,  Hsteuing  to  the  drip  of  water 
that  was  the  only  sound.  Suddenly  his  heart 
leapt  .  .  .  was  it  the  only  sound  ?  What  was 
that  other,  if  it  could  be  called  a  sound  ?  It  was 
a  sense  rather,  an  indefinable  blending  of  senses 
of  hearing  and   feel  and  touch — a   faint,   barely 


THE  MINE  49 

perceptible  *  thump,  thump,*  like  the  beat  of  a 
aian's  heart  in  his  breast.  He  snapped  ofi  the 
light  of  his  electric  lamp  and  crouched  breathless 
in  the  darkness,  straining  his  ears  to  hear.  He 
was  soon  satisfied.  He  had  not  lived  these  days 
past  with  the  sound  of  digging  in  his  ears  by  day 
and  his  dreams  by  night  not  to  recognise  the 
blows  of  a  pick.  There  .  .  .  they  had  stopped 
now ;  and  in  imagination  he  pictured  the  digger 
laying  down  the  pick  to  shovel  out  the  loosened 
earth.  Then,  after  a  pause,  the  measured  thump, 
thump  went  on  again.  The  Subaltern  crawled 
along  first  one  arm  of  the  cross-section  and  then 
the  other,  halting  every  now  and  then  to  place  his 
ear  to  the  wet  planking  or  the  wetter  earth.  He 
located  at  last  the  point  nearest  to  the  sound,  and 
without  more  waste  of  time  scurried  off  down  his 
tunnel  to  daylight. 

He  was  back  in  the  mine  again  in  less  than 
half  an  hour — a  bare  thirty  minutes,  but  each 
minute  close  packed  with  concentrated  essence 
of  thought  and  action. 

The  nearest  trench  telephone  had  put  him  in 
touch  with  Battalion  Headquarters,  and  through 
them  with  Brigade,  Divisional,  and  General  Head- 
quarters.   He  had  told  his  story  and  asked  for 


50  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

his  orders  clearly,  quickly,  and  concisely.  The 
Germans  were  countermining.  Their  tunnel  could 
not  possibly  miss  ours,  and,  by  the  sound,  would 
break  through  in  thirty  to  sixty  minutes.  What 
were  his  orders  ?  It  took  some  httle  time  for 
the  orders  to  come,  mainly  because — although  he 
knew  nothing  of  it — his  mine  was  part  of  a  scheme 
for  a  general  attack,  and  general  attacks  are  affairs 
that  cannot  be  postponed  or  expedited  as  easily 
as  a  cold  lunch.  But  the  Subaltern  filled  in  the 
time  of  waiting,  and  when  the  orders  did  come  he 
was  ready  for  them  or  any  other.  They  were 
clear  and  crisp — he  was  to  fire  the  mine,  but 
only  at  the  latest  possible  minute.  That  was 
all  he  got,  and  indeed  all  he  wanted ;  and,  since 
they  did  not  concern  him,  there  is  no  need  here 
to  tell  of  the  swirl  of  other  orders  that  buzzed 
and  ticked  and  talked  by  field  telegraph  and 
telephone  for  miles  up  and  down  and  behind  the 
British  line. 

Before  these  orders  had  begun  to  take  shape 
or  coherency  as  a  whole,  the  Subaltern  was  back 
listening  to  the  thump,  thump  of  the  German 
picks,  and  busily  completing  his  preparations.  It 
was  near  noon,  and  perhaps  the  workers  would 
stop  for  a  meal,  which  would  give  another  hour 


THE  MINE  51 

for  troops  to  be  pushed  up  or  whatever  else  the 
Generals  wanted  time  for.  It  might  even  be 
that  a  fall  of  their  roof,  an  extra  inflow  of  water 
to  their  working,  any  one  of  the  scores  of  troubles 
that  hamper  and  hinder  underground  mining 
might  stop  the  crawhng  advance  of  the  German 
sappers  for  a  day  or  two  and  allow  the  Subaltern's 
mine  to  play  its  appointed  part  at  the  appointed 
time  of  the  grand  attack. 

But  meantime  the  Subaltern  took  no  chances. 
First  he  connected  up  a  short  switch  which  in 
the  last  extreme  of  haste  would  allow  him  with 
one  touch  of  his  finger  to  blow  up  his  mine  and 
himself  with  it.  He  buried  or  concealed  the 
wires  connecting  the  hnked  charges  with  the 
switch  outside  so  as  to  have  a  chance  of  escape 
himself.  He  opened  a  portable  telephone  he 
had  carried  with  him  and  joined  up  to  the  wire 
he  had  also  carried  in,  and  so  was  in  touch  with 
his  Corporal  and  the  world  of  the  aboveground. 
All  these  things  he  did  himself  because  there 
was  no  need  to  risk  more  than  one  man  in  case 
of  a  quick  explosion.  Then,  his  preparations 
complete,  he  sat  down  to  wait  and  to  hsten  to 
the  thudding  picks  of  the  Germans.  They  were 
very  near  now,  and  with  his  ear  to  the  wall  the 


52  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

Subaltern  could  hear  the  shovels  now  as  well 
as  the  picks.  He  shut  his  lamp  ofi  after  a  last 
look  at  his  switch,  his  revolver,  and  the  gHstening 
walls  and  mud-ooze  floor  of  his  tunnel,  and  sat 
still  in  the  darkness.  Once  he  whispered  an 
answer  into  the  telephone  to  his  Corporal,  and 
once  he  flicked  his  lamp  on  an  instant  to  glance 
at  the  watch  on  his  wrist.  Then  he  crouched 
still  and  silent  again.  The  thumping  of  his  heart 
nearly  drowned  the  thud  of  the  picks,  he  was 
shivering  with  excitement,  and  his  mouth  grew 
dry  and  leathery.  He  felt  a  desire  to  smoke, 
and  had  his  case  out  and  a  cigarette  in  his  lips 
when  it  occurred  to  him  that,  when  the  Germans 
broke  through,  the  smell  of  the  smoke  would 
tell  them  instantly  that  they  were  in  an  occupied 
working.  He  counted  on  a  certain  amount  of 
delay  and  doubt  on  their  part  when  their  picks 
first  pierced  his  wall,  and  he  counted  on  that 
pause  again  to  give  him  time  to  escape.  So  he 
put  the  cigarette  away,  and  immediately  was 
overwhelmed  with  a  craving  for  it.  He  fought 
it  for  five  minutes  that  felt  hke  five  hours,  and 
felt  his  desire  grow  tenfold  with  each  minute. 
It  nearly  drove  him  to  doing  what  all  the  risk, 
all   the   discomfort   of  his   cramped  position,   all 


THE  MINE  53 

the  danger,  had  not  done — to  creep  out  and 
fire  the  mine  without  waiting  for  that  last  instant 
when  the  picks  would  break  through.  It  could 
make  Httle  difference,  he  argued  to  himself,  in 
the  movements  of  those  above.  "What  could 
five  minutes  more,  or  ten,  or  even  fifteen,  matter 
now  ?  It  might  even  be  that  he  was  endangering 
the  success  of  the  explosion  by  waiting,  and  it 
was  perhaps  wiser  to  crawl  out  at  once  and  fixe 
the  mine — and  he  could  safely  hght  a  cigarette 
then  as  soon  as  he  was  round  the  comer  of  the  T. 
So  he  argued  the  matter  out,  fingering  his 
cigarette-case  and  longing  for  the  taste  of  the 
tobacco,  and  yet  knowing  in  his  inmost  heart 
that  he  would  not  move,  despite  his  arguments, 
until  the  first  pick  came  through.  He  heard 
the  strokes  draw  nearer  and  nearer,  and  now  he 
held  his  breath  and  strained  his  eyes  as  each 
one  was  dehvered.  The  instant  he  had  waited 
for  came  in  exactly  the  fashion  he  had  expected 
— a  thud,  a  thread  of  yellow  hght  piercing  the 
black  dark,  a  grunt  of  surprise  from  the  pick- 
wielder  at  the  lack  of  resistance  to  his  stroke.  All 
this  was  just  what  he  had  expected,  had  known 
would  happen.  The  next  stroke  would  show 
the  digger  that  he  was  entering  some  hole.     Then 


54  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

there  would  be  cautious  investigation,  the  sending 
back  word  to  an  o£&cer,  the  slow  and  careful 
enlargement  of  the  opening.  And  before  that 
moment  came  the  Subaltern  would  be  down  his 
tunnel,  and  outside,  and  pressing  the  switch  .  .  . 
But  his  programme  worked  out  no  further  than 
that  first  instant  and  that  first  gleam  of  hght. 
He  saw  the  gleam  widen  suddenly  as  the  pick 
was  withdrawn,  heard  another  quick  blow,  saw 
the  round  spot  of  light  run  out  in  httle  cracks 
and  one  wide  rift,  and  suddenly  the  wall  fell  in, 
and  he  was  staring  straight  into  the  German 
gallery,  with  a  dark  figure  silhouetted  clear  down 
to  the  waist  against  the  Hght  of  an  electric  bulb- 
lamp  which  hung  from  the  gallery  roof.  For 
an  instant  the  Subaltern's  blood  froze.  The 
figure  of  the  German  was  only  separated  from 
him  by  a  bare  three  yards,  and  to  his  dark-blinded 
eyes  it  seemed  that  he  himself  was  standing  in 
plain  view  in  a  brilliant  blaze  of  light.  Actually 
he  was  in  almost  complete  darkness.  The  single 
light  in  the  German  gallery  hardly  penetrated 
through  the  gloom  of  his  own  tunnel,  and  what 
little  did  showed  nothing  to  the  eyes  of  the  German, 
used  to  the  lamp-hght  and  staring  suddenly  into 
the  black  rift  before  him.     But  the  German  called 


THE  MINE  55 

out  to  some  one  behind  him,  twisted  romid,  moved, 
stooping,  back  to  the  lamp  and  reached  up  a 
hand  to  it.  The  Subaltern  backed  away  hastily, 
his  eyes  fixed  on  the  glow  of  Hght  in  the  opening. 
The  hole  had  broken  through  on  a  curve  of  his 
tunnel,  so  that  for  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  back  he 
could  still  see  down  the  German  gallery,  could 
watch  the  man  unhook  the  lamp  and  carry  it 
back  to  the  opening,  thrust  the  lamp  before  him 
and  lean  in  over  the  crumbhng  heap  of  earth  his 
pick  had  brought  down.  The  Subaltern  stopped 
and  drew  a  gasping  breath  and  held  it.  Discovery 
was  a  matter  of  seconds  now.  He  had  left  his 
firing  switch,  but  he  still  carried  the  portable 
telephone  slung  from  his  shoulder,  the  earth-pin 
dangling  from  it.  He  had  only  to  thrust  the  pin 
into  the  mud  and  he  was  connected  up  with  the 
Corporal  at  the  outside  switch,  had  only  to  shout 
one  word,  *  Fire  ! ' — and  it  would  all  be  over. 
Quickly  but  noiselessly  he  put  his  hand  down  to 
catch  up  the  wire  with  the  earth-pin.  His  hand 
touched  the  revolver-butt  in  his  holster,  checked 
at  it,  closed  round  it  and  shd  it  softly  out.  All 
this  had  taken  an  instant  of  time,  and  as  he  raised 
his  weapon  he  saw  the  German  still  staring  hard 
under  the  upheld  lamp  into  the  gloom.    He  was 


58  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

looking  the  other  way,  and  the  Subaltern  levelled 
the  heavy  revolver  and  paused.  The  sights  stood 
out  clear  and  black  against  the  figure  standing 
in  the  glow  of  light — a  perfect  and  unmissable 
target.  The  man  was  bareheaded,  and  wore  a 
mud-stained  blue  shirt  with  sleeves  cut  ofi  above 
the  elbow.  The  Subaltern  moved  the  notched 
sights  from  under  the  armpit  of  the  raised  arm 
that  held  up  the  light,  and  steadied  them  on 
the  round  of  the  ear  that  stood  out  clear  against 
the  close-cropped  black  hair.  He  heard  a  guttural 
exclamation  of  wonder,  saw  the  head  come  slowly 
round  until  the  circle  of  the  ear  foreshortened 
and  moved  past  his  sights,  and  they  were  centred 
straight  between  the  staring  eyes.  His  finger 
contracted  on  the  trigger,  but  a  sudden  qualm 
stayed  him.  It  wasn't  fair,  it  wasn't  sporting, 
it  was  too  Hke  shooting  a  sitting  hare.  And  the 
man  hadn't  seen  him  even  yet.  Man  ?  This 
was  no  man ;  a  lad  rather,  a  youth,  a  mere  boy, 
with  childish  wondering  eyes,  a  smooth  oval  chin, 
the  mouth  of  a  pretty  girl.  The  Subaltern  had 
a  school-boy  brother  hardly  younger  than  this 
boy  ;  and  a  quick  vision  rose  of  a  German  mother 
and  sisters — no,  he  couldn't  shoot ;  it  would 
be  murder  ;  it — and  then  a  quick  start,  an  upward 


THE  MINE  57 

movement  of  the  lamp,  a  sharp  question,  told  him 
the  boy  had  seen.  The  Subaltern  spoke  softly  in 
fairly  good  German.  '  Run  away,  my  boy.  In 
an  instant  my  mine  will  explode.* 

•  Who  is  it  ?  Who  is  there  ?  '  gasped  the  boy. 
The  Subaltern  chuckled,  and  grinned  wickedly. 

Swiftly  he  dropped  the  revolver,  fumbled  a  moment, 
and  pulled  a  coil  of  capped  fuse  from  his  pocket. 

*  It  is  the  English,'  he  said.  *  It  is  an  EngHsh 
mine  that  I  now  explode,'  and,  on  the  word,  ht 
the  fuse  and  flung  it,  fizzing  and  spitting  a  jet  of 
sparks  and  smoke,  towards  the  boy.  The  lad 
flinched  back  and  half  turned  to  run,  but  the 
Subaltern  saw  him  look  round  over  his  shoulder 
and  twist  back,  saw  the  eyes  glaring  at  the  fiery 
thing  in  the  mud,  the  dreadful  resolve  grow 
swiftly  On  the  set  young  face,  the  teeth  clamped 
on  the  resolve.  He  was  going  to  dash  for  the 
fuse,  to  try  to  wrench  it  out  and,  as  he  supposed, 
prevent  the  mine  exploding.  The  Subaltern  jerked 
up  the  revolver  again.  This  would  never  do ; 
the  precious  seconds  were  flying ;  at  any  moment 
another  man  might  come.  He  would  have  saved 
this  youngster  if  he  could,  but  he  could  allow 
nothing  to  risk  failure  for  his  mine.  *  Get  back,'  he 
said  sharply.    '  Get  back  quickly,  or  I  shall  shoot.' 


58  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

But  now  what  he  had  feared  happened.  A 
voice  called,  a  scufSing  footfall  sounded  in  the 
German  gallery,  a  dim  figure  pushed  forward  into 
the  hght  beside  the  boy.  The  Subaltern  saw  that 
it  was  an  officer,  heard  his  angry  oath  in  answer 
to  the  boy's  quick  words,  his  shout,  *  The  hght, 
fool — ^break  it  * ;  saw  the  clenched  fist's  vicious 
buffet  in  the  boyish  face  and  the  quick  grab  at  the 
electric  bulb.  The  Subaltern's  revolver  sights  slid 
off  the  boy  and  hung  an  instant  on  the  snarhng 
face  of  the  officer.  .  .  . 

In  the  confined  space  the  roar  of  his  heavy 
revolver  rolled  and  thundered  in  reverberating 
echoes,  the  swirling  powder-reek  blinded  him  and 
stung  in  his  nostrils ;  and  as  the  smoke  cleared 
he  could  see  the  boy  scrambhng  back  along  his 
gallery  and  the  officer  sprawled  face  down  across 
the  earth-heap  in  the  Hght  of  the  fallen  lamp. 

The  Subaltern  smashed  the  lamp  himself  before 
he  too  turned  and  plunged,  floundering  and 
slipping  and  stumbling,  for  his  exit  in  an  agony 
of  haste  and  apprehension.  It  was  all  right,  he 
told  himself  a  dozen  times ;  the  officer  was  done 
for — the  back  of  that  head  and  a  past  knowledge 
of  a  service  revolver's  work  at  close  range  told 
him  that  plain  enough  ;  it  would  take  a  good  many 


THE  MINE  59 

minutes  for  tlie  boy  to  tell  his  tale,  and  even  then, 
if  a  party  ventured  back  at  once,  it  would  take 
many  more  minutes  in  the  dark — and  he  was  glad 
he  thought  to  smash  the  lamp — ^before  they  could 
find  his  charges  or  the  wires.  It  was  safe  enough, 
but — ^the  tunnel  had  never  seemed  so  long  or  the 
going  so  slow.  He  banged  against  beams  and 
supports,  ploughed  through  sticky  mud  and 
churning  water,  rasped  his  knuckles,  and  bruised 
knees  and  elbows  in  his  mad  haste.  It  was  safe 
enough,  but — ^but — ^but — ^suppose  there  was  no 
response  to  his  pressure  on  the  switch  ;  suppose 
there  had  been  some  silly  mistake  in  making 
the  connections ;  suppose  the  battery  wouldn't 
work.  There  were  a  score  of  things  to  go  wrong. 
Thank  goodness  he  had  overhauled  and  examined 
everything  himself;  although  that  again  would 
only  make  it  more  appallingly  awful  if  things 
didn't  work.  No  time  now,  no  chance  to  go  back 
and  put  things  right.  Perhaps  he  ought  to  have 
stayed  back  there  and  made  the  contact.  A 
quick  end  if  it  worked  right,  and  a  last  chance 
to  refi^:  it  if  it  didn't ;  yes,  he  .  ,  .  but  here 
was  the  Hght  ahead.  He  shouted  *  Fire ! '  at 
the  top  of  his  voice,  still  hurrying  on  and  half 
cowering  from  the  expected  roar  and  shock  of 


60  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

the  explosion.  Nothing  happened.  He  shouted 
again  and  again  as  loud  as  his  sobbing  breath 
and  lab  ouxing  lungs  would  let  him.  Still — nothing  ; 
and  it  began  to  sear  his  brain  as  a  dreadful  certainty 
that  he  had  failed,  that  his  mine  was  a  ghastly 
frost,  that  all  the  labour  gone  to  its  making  and 
the  good  Hves  spent  on  it  were  wasted.  He 
stumbled  weakly  out  into  the  shaft,  caught  a 
gHmpse  of  the  CorporaFs  set  face  staring  at  the 
tunnel  mouth,  and  tried  once  more  to  call  out 
*  Fire ! '  But  the  Corporal  was  waiting  for  no 
word.  He  had  already  got  that,  had  heard  the 
Subaltern's  first  shouts  roll  down  the  tunnel,  in 
fact  was  waiting  with  a  finger  on  the  exploding 
switch  for  the  moment  the  Subaltern  should  appear. 
The  fieger  moved  steadily  over  as  the  Subaltern 
stumbled  into  sight — and  the  soHd  earth  heaved 
convulsively,  shuddered,  and  rocked  and  shook  to 
the  roaring  blast  of  the  explosion. 

The  shock  and  the  rush  of  air  from  the  tunnel- 
mouth  caught  the  Subaltern,  staggering  to  his 
knees,  and  flung  him  headlong.  And  as  he  picked 
himself  up  again  the  air  darkened  with  whizzing 
clods  and  mud  and  dust  and  stones  and  dirt 
that  rained  down  from  the  sky.  Before  the  echoes 
of  the  explosion  had  died  away,  before  the  last 


THE  MINE  61 

fragments  and  debris  had  fallen,  there  came 
the  sound  of  another  roar,  the  bellowing  thmider 
of  the  British  guns  throwing  a  storm  of  shell 
and  shrapnel  between  the  German  supports  and 
the  ruined  trench.  That,  and  another  sound, 
told  the  Subaltern  that  the  full  fruits  of  his  work 
were  to  be  fully  reaped — the  sound  of  the  guns 
and  of  the  full,  deep-chested,  roaring  cheers  of 
the  British  infantry  as  they  swarmed  from  their 
trenches  and  rushed  to  occupy  the  crater  of  the 
explosion. 

•  •  •  •  • 

Later  in  the  day,  when  the  infantry  had  made 
good  their  possession  of  the  place,  had  sandbagged 
and  fortified  it  to  stand  against  the  expected 
counter-attacks,  the  Subaltern  went  to  look  over 
the  ground  and  see  at  first  and  close  hand  the 
results  of  his  explosion.  Technically,  he  found 
it  interesting ;  humanly,  it  was  merely  sickening. 
The  ground  was  one  weltering  chaos  and  confusion 
of  tossed  earth- heaps  and  holes,  of  broken  beams 
and  jagged-ended  planks,  of  flung  sandbags  and 
wrecked  barricading.  Of  trench  or  barricade, 
as  trench  and  barricade,  there  remained,  simply, 
no  sign.  The  wreckage  was  scattered  thick  with 
a  dreadful  debris  of  dead  bodies,  of  bloody  clothing, 


62  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

of  helmets  and  broken  rifles,  burst  packs  and 
haversacks,  bayonets,  water-bottles,  and  shattered 
equipments.  The  Ambulance  men  were  busy, 
but  there  were  still  many  dead  and  dying  and 
wounded  to  be  removed,  wounded  with  torn 
flesh  and  mangled  limbs,  dead  and  dying  with 
scorched  and  smouldering  clothes.  The  infantry, 
hastily  digging  and  filhng  sandbags  and  throwing 
up  parapets  on  the  far  edge  of  the  reeking  explosion 
pit,  had  found  many  bodies  caught  in  the  descending 
avalanche  of  earth  or  buried  in  the  collapsed 
trenches  and  dug-outs ;  and  here  and  there,  amid 
the  confusion,  a  foot  or  a  hand  protruding  stark 
from  some  earth- heap  marked  the  death-place 
of  other  victims.  The  whole  scene  was  one  of 
death  and  desolation,  of  ruin  and  destruction, 
and  the  Subaltern  turned  from  it  sick  at  stomach. 
It  was  the  first  result  of  a  big  explosion  he  had 
seen.  This  was  the  sort  of  thing  that  he  had  read 
so  often  summed  up  in  a  line  of  the  Official  Despatch 
or  a  two-line  newspaper  paragraph :  '  A  mine 
was  successfully  exploded  under  a  section  of  the 
enemy's  trench.'  Amine — his  mine,  ,  .  .  'God!' 
the  Subaltern  said  softly  under  his  breath,  and 
looked  wonderingly  about  him. 

'  'E's  a  bloomin'  little  butcher,  is  that  Lefltenant 


THE  MINE  63 

of  ours,'  the  Corporal  said  that  night.  *  'Course 
it  was  a  good  bit  o'  work,  an'  he'd  reason  to  be 
proud  of  it ;  but — well  I  thought  I'd  a  strongish 
stomach,  an'  I've  seen  some  dirty  blood-an'-bones 
messes  in  my  time  but  that  scorchin'  shambles 
near  turned  me  over.  An'  he  comes  back,  after 
lookin'  at  it,  as  cheerful  as  the  cornerman  o' 
a  Christie  Minstrel  troupe,  an'  as  pleased  as  a  dog 
wi'  two  tails.    Fair  pleased,  'e  was.' 

But  he  was  a  little  wrong.  What  had  brought 
the  Subaltern  back  with  such  a  cheerful  air  was 
not  the  sight  of  his  work,  not  the  grim  picture  of 
the  smashed  trenches.  It  was  an  encounter  he 
had  had  with  a  little  group  of  German  prisoners, 
the  recognising  amongst  them  of  a  dirty,  mud- 
stained  blue  shirt  with  sleeves  cut  off  above  the 
elbows,  a  close-cropped  bare  head,  a  boy's  face 
with  smooth  oval  chin  and  girhsh  eyes.  The  mine 
work  he  had  directed,  but  others  had  shared  it. 
It  was  the  day's  work — it  was  an  incident  of 
war — it  was,  after  all,  merely  '  a  mine  successfully 
exploded  .  .  .'  But  that  one  Hfe  saved  was  also 
his  work,  and,  moreover,  his  own,  his  individual 
personal  work.  It  was  of  that  he  thought  most  as 
he  came  back  smiHng  to  his  Corporal. 


ARTILLERY  SUPPORT 

' .  .  .  supported  by  a  close  and  accurate  artillery 
fire  .  .  / — Extract  from  Official  Despatch. 

From  his  position  in  the  *  Observation  Post ' 
the  Artillery  Forward  Officer  watched  the  fight 
raging  along  his  front  much  as  a  spectator 
in  the  grand-stand  watches  a  football  match. 
Through  his  glasses  he  could  see  every  detail 
and  movement  of  the  fighters,  see  even  their 
facial  expressions,  the  grip  of  hands  about  their 
weapons.  Queerly  enough,  it  was  something  hke 
looking  at  the  dumb  show  of  a  cinema  film.  He 
could  see  a  rifle  pointed  and  the  spit  of  flame 
from  the  muzzle  without  hearing  any  report, 
could  see  an  officer  gesticulating  and  his  mouth 
opening  and  closing  in  obvious  stentorian  shoutings 
without  hearing  the  faintest  soimd  of  his  voice, 
could  even  see  the  quick  flash  and  puffing  smoke 
of  a  grenade  without  catching  the  crash  of  its 
explosion.     It  was  not  that  he  was  too  far  off 

64 


ARTILLERY  SUPPORT  65 

to  hear  all  these  sounds,  but  simply  because 
individually  they  were  drowned  in  the  continuous 
ear-filling  roar  of  the  battle. 

The  struggle  was  keenly  interesting  and  des- 
perately exciting,  even  from  a  spectator's  point 
of  view ;  and  the  interest  and  excitement  were 
the  greater  to  the  Forward  Officer,  because  he 
was  playing  a  part,  and  an  important  part,  in  the 
great  game  spread  before  him.  Beyond  the  Hue 
of  a  section  of  the  British  front  white  smoke-puffs 
were  constantly  bursting,  over  his  head  a  succes- 
sion of  shells  streamed  rushing  and  shrieking ; 
and  the  place  where  each  of  those  puffs  burst 
depended  on  him,  each  shell  that  roared  overhead 
came  in  answer  to  his  call.  He  was  *  observing  * 
for  a  six-gun  battery  concealed  behind  a  gentle 
slope  over  a  mile  away  to  his  right  rear,  and, 
since  the  gunners  at  the  battery  could  see  nothing 
of  the  fight,  nothing  of  their  target,  not  even 
the  burst  of  a  single  one  of  their  shells,  they 
depended  solely  on  their  Forward  Officer  to  correct 
their  aim  and  direct  their  fire. 

All  along  the  front — or  rather  both  the  fronts, 
for  the  German  batteries  worked  on  exactly  the 
same  system — the  batteries  were  pouring  down 
their   shells,    and    each    battery    was    dependent 


66  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

for  the  accuracy  of  its  fixe  on  its  own  Observing 
Officer  crouching  somewhere  up  in  front  and  over- 
looking his  battery *s  *  zone/ 

The  fighting  Hne  surged  forward  or  swayed 
back,  checked  and  halted,  moved  again,  now 
rapidly,  now  slowly  and  staggeringly,  curved 
forward  here  and  dinted  in  there,  striving  fiercely 
to  hold  its  ground  in  this  place,  driving  forward 
in  that,  or  breaking,  reefing  back  into  the  arms 
of  the  supports,  swirfing  forward  with  them  again. 
But  no  matter  whether  the  fines  moved  forward  or 
back,  fast  or  slow,  raggedly  and  unevenly,  or  in 
one  long  close-locked  fine,  ever  and  always  the 
shells  soared  over  and  burst  beyond  the  fine, 
just  far  enough  barely  to  clear  it  if  the  fight  were 
at  close  quarters ;  reaching  out  and  on  a  hundred, 
two  hundred,  yards  when  the  fighters  drew  apart 
for  a  moment ;  always  clear  of  their  own  infantry, 
and  as  exactly  as  possible  on  the  fighting  line  of 
the  enemy,  for  such  is  the  essence  of  '  close  and 
accurate  artiUery  support/ 

The  Forward  Observing  Officer,  perched  pre- 
cariously in  an  angle  of  the  walls  of  a  ruined  cottage, 
stared  through  his  glasses  at  the  confusion  of  the 
fight  for  hour  after  hour  until  his  eyes  ached  and 
his  vision  swam.    The  Forward  Officer  had  been 


ARTILLERY  SUPPORT  67 

there  since  daybreak,  and  because  no  shells  ob- 
viously aimed  at  his  station  had  bombarded 
him — plenty  of  chance  ones  had  come  very  close, 
but  of  course  they  didn't  count — ^he  was  satisfied 
that  he  was  reasonably  secure,  and  told  his  Major 
back  at  the  Battery  so  over  his  telephone.  The 
succession  of  attack  and  coimter-attack  had  ceased 
for  the  time  being,  and  the  Forward  Ofi&cer  let 
his  glasses  drop  and  shut  his  aching  eyes  for  a 
moment.  But,  almost  immediately,  he  had  to 
open  them  and  hft  his  head  carefully,  to  peer 
out  over  the  top  of  the  broken  wall ;  for  the  sudden 
crash  of  reopening  rifle  fire  warned  him  that 
another  move  was  coming.  From  far  out  on  his 
left,  beyond  the  range  of  his  vision,  the  fire  began. 
It  beat  down,  wave  upon  wave,  towards  his 
front,  crossed  it,  and  went  rolling  on  beyond 
his  right.  The  initiative  came  from  the  British 
side,  and,  taking  it  as  the  prelude  of  an  attack, 
developing  perhaps  out  of  sight  on  his  left, 
the  Forward  Officer  called  up  his  Battery  and 
quickened  the  rate  of  its  fire  upon  the  German 
line.  In  a  few  minutes  he  caught  a  quick  stir 
in  the  British  line,  a  gHmpse  of  the  row  of  khaki 
figures  clambering  from  their  trench  and  the 
flickering    flash    of    their   bayonets — and    in    an 


68  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

instant  the  flat  ground  beyond  the  trench  waa 
covered  with  running  figures.  They  made  a 
fair  target  that  the  German  gunners,  rifles,  and 
maxims  were  quick  to  leap  upon.  The  German 
trench  streamed  fire,  the  German  shells — shrap- 
nel and  high-explosive— blew  gaping  rents  in  the 
running  Une.  The  fine  staggered  and  flinched, 
halted,  recovered,  and  went  on  again,  leaving  the 
ground  behind  it  dotted  with  sprawhng  figures. 
The  space  covered  by  the  Forward  Officer's  zone 
was  flat  and  bare  of  cover  clear  to  the  German 
trench  two  hundred  yards  away.  It  was  too 
deadly  a  stretch  for  that  gallant  Hne  to  cover ; 
and  before  it  was  half-way  across,  it  faltered 
again,  hung  irresolute,  and  flung  itself  prone  to 
ground.  The  level  edge  of  the  German  trench 
suddenly  became  serrated  with  bobbing  heads, 
flickered  with  moving  figures,  and  the  next 
moment  was  hidden  by  the  swarm  of  men  that 
leaped  from  it  and  came  charging  across  the 
open.  This  hne  too  withered  and  wilted  under 
the  fire  that  smote  it,  but  it  gathered  itself  and 
hurled  on  again.  The  Forward  Officer  called 
down  the  shortening  ranges  to  the  guns,  and 
the  answering  shrapnel  fell  fiercely  on  the  German 
line  and  tore  it  to  fragments — but  the  fragments 


ARTILLERY  SUPPORT  69 

still  advanced.  The  remnant  of  the  British  line 
rose  and  flung  forward  to  meet  it,  and  as  the  two 
clashed  the  supports  from  either  side  poured  out  to 
help.  As  the  dense  mass  of  Germans  emerged, 
and  knitted  into  close  formation,  the  Forward 
Officer  reeled  oS  swift  orders  to  the  telephone. 
The  shrieking  tempest  of  his  shells  fell  upon  the 
mass,  struck  and  slew  wholesale,  struck  and  slew 
again.  The  mass  shivered  and  broke;  but  although 
part  of  it  vanished  back  under  the  cover  of  the 
trench,  although  another  part  lay  piled  in  a 
wreckage  of  dead  and  wounded,  a  third  part 
straggled  forward  and  charged  into  the  fight. 
The  British  line  was  overborne,  and  pushed 
struggling  back  until  new  supports  brought  it 
fresh  life  and  turned  the  tide  again.  The  Germans 
surviving  the  charge  were  killed,  wounded,  or 
taken  prisoners,  and  the  Forward  Officer,  lifting 
his  fire  and  pouring  it  on  the  German  trench, 
checked  for  the  moment  any  further  rush  of  rein- 
forcements. The  British  line  ran  forward  to  a 
field  track  running  parallel  to  the  trenches  and 
nearly  midway  between  them,  flung  itself  down 
to  escape  the  bullets  that  stormed  across  and 
began,  as  rapidly  as  the  men's  cramped  position 
would    allow,    to    dig    themselves    in.    To    their 


70  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

right  and  left  the  field  track  sank  a  foot  or  two 
below  the  surface  of  the  field,  and  this  scanty  but 
precious  shelter  had  allowed  the  rest  of  the  line 
to  stop  half-way  across  and  hold  on  to  get  its 
breath  and  allow  a  constant  spray  of  supports  to 
dash  across  the  open  and  reinforce  it.  Now,  the 
centre,  where  the  track  ran  bare  and  flat  across 
the  field,  plied  frantic  shovels  to  heap  up  some 
sort  of  cover  that  would  allow  them  also  to  hang 
on  in  conformation  of  the  whole  line  and  gather 
breath  and  reinforcements  for  the  next  rush. 

The  Germans  saw  plainly  enough  what  was 
the  plan,  and  took  instant  steps  to  upset  it.  Their 
first  and  best  chance  was  to  thrust  hard  at  the 
weak  and  ill-protected  centre,  overwhelm  it  and 
then  roll  up  the  lines  to  right  and  left  of  it. 

A  tornado  of  shell  fire  ushered  in  the  new 
assault.  The  shells  burst  in  running  crashes 
up  and  down  the  advanced  hne,  and  up  and 
down  the  British  trench  behind  it ;  driving  squalls 
of  shrapnel  swept  the  ground  between  the  two, 
and,  in  addition,  a  storm  of  rifle  and  machine-gun 
bullets  rained  along  the  scanty  parapet,  whistled 
and  droned  and  hissed  across  the  open.  And 
then,  suddenly,  the  assault  was  launched  from 
all  along  the  German  line. 


ARTILLERY  SUPPORT  71 

At  the  same  instant  a  shell  struck  the  wall  of 
the  Forward  Officer's  station,  burst  with  a  terrific 
crash,  swept  three  parts  of  the  remaining  wall 
away  in  a  cloud  of  shrieking  splinters  and  swirling 
dust  of  brick  and  plaster,  and  threw  the  Forward 
Officer  headlong  half  a  dozen  yards.  By  some 
miracle  he  was  untouched.  His  first  thought 
was  for  the  telephone — the  connecting  link  with 
his  guns.  He  scrambled  over  the  debris  to  the 
dug-out  or  shelter -pit  behind  his  corner  and  found 
telephonist  and  telephone  intact.  He  dropped 
on  hands  and  knees  and  crawled  over  the  rubble 
and  out  beyond  the  end  of  the  wall,  for  the  cloud 
of  smoke  and  plaster  and  brick-dust  still  hung 
heavily  about  the  ruin.  Here,  in  the  open  as 
he  was,  the  air  sang  like  tense  harp-strings  to 
the  passage  of  innumerable  bullets,  the  ground 
about  his  feet  danced  to  their  drumming,  flicked 
and  spat  httle  spurts  of  mud  all  over  him. 

But  the  Forward  Officer  paid  little  heed  to 
these  things.  For  one  moment  his  gaze  was 
riveted  horror-stricken  on  the  scene  of  the  fight; 
the  next  he  was  on  his  feet,  heedless  of  the  singing 
bullets,  heedless  of  the  roar  aud  crash  of  another 
shell  that  hit  the  ground  and  flung  a  cart-load 
of  earth  and  mud  whizzing  and  thumping  about 


72  BETAVEEN  THE  LINES 

him,  heedless  of  everything  except  the  need  to 
get  quickly  to  the  telephone. 

'  Tell  the  Battery,  Germans  advancing — heavy 
attack  on  our  front ! '  he  panted  to  the  telephonist, 
jumped  across  to  his  corner,  and  heaved  himself 
up  into  place.  The  dust  had  cleared  now,  s« 
that  he  could  see.  And  what  he  could  see  made 
him  catch  his  breath.  An  almost  solid  line  of 
Germans  were  clear  of  their  trenches  and  pushing 
rapidly  across  the  open  on  the  weak  centre.  And 
the  Battery's  shells  were  falling  behind  th« 
German  line  and  still  on  their  trenches.  Swiftly  the 
Forward  Officer  began  to  reel  oS  his  corrections 
of  angles  and  range,  and  as  the  telephonist  passed 
them  on  gun  after  gun  began  to  pitch  its  shells 
on  the  advancing  line. 

The  British  rifles  were  busy  too,  and  their 
fire  rose  in  one  continuous  roar.  But  the  fire  was 
weakest  from  the  thin  centre  line,  the  spot  where 
the  attack  was  heaviest.  The  guns  were  in  full 
play  again,  and  the  shells  were  blasting  quick 
gaps  out  of  the  advancing  line.  But  the  line 
came  on.  The  rifles  beat  upon  it,  and  a  machine- 
gun  on  the  less  heavily  pressed  left  turned  and 
mowed  the  Germans  down  in  swathes.  Still 
the   line   came    on   stubbornly.    It    was    broken 


ARTILLERY  SUPPORT  T6 

and  ragged  now,  and  advanced  slowly,  because 
the  front  ranks  were  constantly  melting  away 
under  the  British  fire.  The  Forward  Officer 
watched  with  straining  eyes  glued  to  his  glasses. 
A  shell  '  whooped '  past  close  over  his  head,  and 
burst  just  beyond  him.  He  neither  turned  his 
head  nor  moved  his  glasses.  One,  two,  three, 
four  burst  short,  and  splinters  and  bullets  sang 
past  him ;  two  more  burst  overhead,  and  the 
shrapnel  clashed  and  rattled  amongst  the  stone 
and  brick  of  the  ruins.  Without  moving,  the 
Forward  Officer  began  to  call  a  fresh  string  of 
orders.  The  rush  of  his  shells  ceased  for  a  moment 
while  the  gunners  adjusted  the  new  angles  and 
ranges.  '  Number  One  fired.  Two  fired.  Three, 
Four,  Five,  Six  fired,  sir,'  called  the  telephonist, 
and  as  he  spoke  there  came  the  shrieks  of  the 
shells,  and  the  wliite  puffs  of  the  bursts  low 
down  and  between  the  prone  British  line  and 
the  advancing  Germans. 

*  Number  Three,  one-oh  minutes  more  left ! ' 
shouted  the  Forward  Officer.  '  Number  Five, 
add  twenty-five — repeat.' 

Again  came  the  running  bursts  and  puffing 
white  smoke,  and  satisfied  this  time  with  their 
line,  position,  and  distance,  the  Forward  Officer 


74  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

shouted  for  *  Gan-nre,'  jumped  down  and  across 
to  the  telephonist's  shelter-pit. 

*  I'm  putting  a  belt  of  fire  just  ahead  of  our 
line,'  he  shouted,  curving  his  fingers  about  his 
lips  and  the  mouthpiece  in  an  attempt  to  shut  out 
the  uproar  about  them.  *  If  they  can  come 
through  it  we're  done — infantry  can't  hold  'em. 
Give  me  every  round  you  can,  and  as  fast  as  you 
can,  please.'  He  ran  back  to  his  place.  A 
cataract  of  shells  poured  their  shrapnel  down  along 
a  line  of  which  the  nearest  edge  was  a  bare  twenty 
yards  from  the  British  front.  The  Forward  Officer 
fixed  his  eyes  on  the  string  of  white  smoke-puSs 
with  their  centre  of  winking  flame  that  burst 
and  burst  and  burst  unceasingly.  If  one  showed 
out  of  its  proper  place  he  shouted  to  the  telephonist 
and  named  the  delinquent  gun,  and  asked  for  the 
lay  and  fuse-setting  to  be  checked. 

The  advancing  Germans  reached  at  last  the 
strip  of  ground  where  his  shrapnel  hailed  and  lashed, 
reached  the  strip  and  pushed  into  it — but  not 
past  it.  Up  to  the  shrapnel  zone  the  advance 
could  press;  through,  it  could  not.  Under  the 
shrapnel  nothing  could  Hve.  It  swept  the  ground 
in  driving  gust  on  gust,  swept  and  besomed  it 
bare  of  life.    Here  and  there,  in  ones  and  twos 


ARTILLERY  SUPPORT  75 

and  little  knots  and  groups,  the  Germans  strove 
desperately  to  push  on.  They  came  as  far  as 
that  deadly  fire  belt ;  and  in  ones  and  twos  and 
little  knots  and  groups  they  stayed  there  and 
died.  Supports  hurried  up  and  hurled  themselves 
in,  and  a  spasm  of  fresh  strength  and  fury  lifted 
the  line  and  heaved  it  forward.  So  far  the  fire 
of  its  fury  brought  it;  and  there  the  hosing 
shrapnel  met  it,  swept  down  and  washed  it 
away,  and  beat  it  out  to  the  last  spark  and  the 
last  man. 

But  from  the  German  trenches  another  assault 
was  forming,  from  the  German  batteries  another 
squall  of  shell-fire  smote  the  British  line ;  and  to 
his  horror,  the  Forward  Officer  saw  his  own  shells 
coming  slower  and  slower,  the  smoke-bursts  growing 
irregular  and  slower  again.  He  leaped  down  and 
rushed  to  the  telephone. 

Back  in  the  Battery  the  telephone  wires  ran 
into  a  dug-out  that  was  the  brain-centre  of  the 
guns,  and  from  here  the  Forward  Officer's 
directions  emerged  and  were  translated  to  the 
gunners  through  the  Battery  Commander  and 
the  Battery  Sergeant-Major's  megaphone. 

All  the  morning  the  gunners  followed  those 
orders    bhndly,     sluing   the    hot    gun-muzzles    a 


76  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

fraction  this  way  or  that,  making  minute  adjust- 
ments on  sights  and  range  drums  and  shell  fuses. 
They  could  see  no  glimpse  of  the  fight,  but,  more 
or  less  accurately,  they  could  follow  its  varying 
fortunes  and  trace  its  movements  by  the  orders 
that  came  through  to  them.  When  they  had 
to  send  their  shells  further  back,  the  enemy 
obviously  were  being  pressed  back ;  when  the 
fire  had  to  be  brought  closer  the  enemy  were 
closer.  An  urgent  call  for  rapid  fire  with  an 
increasing  range  meant  our  infantry  attacking ; 
with  a  lessening  range,  their  being  attacked. 

Occasionally  the  Battery  Commander  passed 
to  the  Section  Commanders  items  of  news  from 
the  Forward  Officer,  and  they  in  turn  told  the 
*  Numbers  One  *  in  charge  of  the  guns,  and  the 
gun  detachments. 

Such  a  message  was  passed  along  when  the 
Forward  Officer  telephoned  news  of  the  heavy 
pressure  on  the  weakened  centre.  Every  man 
in  the  Battery  knew  what  was  expected,  and 
detachment  vied  with  detachment  in  the  speedy 
correcting  of  aim  and  range,  and  the  rapid  service 
of  their  guns.  When  the  order  came  for  a  round 
of  *  Battery  fire  * — which  calls  for  the  guns  to 
fire  in  their  turn  from  right  to  left — one  gun  was 


ARTILLERY  SUPPORT  77 

a  few  seconds  late  in  reporting  ready,  and  every 
other  man  at  every  other  gun  fretted  and  chafed 
impatiently  as  if  each  second  had  been  an  hour. 

At  another  message  from  the  Forward  Officer 
the  Battery  Commander  called  for  Section  Com- 
manders. The  Sergeant-Ma j  or  clapped  mega- 
phone to  mouth  and  shouted,  and  two  young 
subalterns  and  a  sergeant  jumped  from  their  places, 
and  raced  for  the  dug-out.  The  Major  spoke 
rapidly  and  tersely.  *  We  are  putting  down 
a  belt  of  shrapnel  in  front  of  our  own  infantry 
— very  close  to  them.  You  know  what  that 
means — the  most  careful  and  exact  laying  and 
fusing,  and  fire  as  hot  and  heavy  as  you  can 
make  it.  The  infantry  can't  hold  'em.  They're 
depending  on  us ;  the  hne  depends  on  us.  Tell 
your  men  so.  Be  ofi,  now.'  The  three  saluted, 
whirled  on  their  heels,  and  were  off.  They  told 
their  men,  and  the  men  strained  every  nerve  to 
answer  adequately  to  the  call  upon  them.  The 
rate  of  fire  worked  up  faster  and  faster.  Between 
the  thunder-claps  of  the  gun  the  Sergeant-Major's 
megaphone  bellowed,  *  Number  Six,  check  your 
lay.'  Number  Six  missed  the  message,  but  the 
nearest  gun  caught  the  word  and  passed  it  along. 
The  Section  Commander  heard,  saluted  to  show 


78  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

lie  had  heard  and  understood,  and  ran  himself  to 
check  the  layer's  aim. 

Up  to  now  the  Battery  had  worked  without 
coming  under  any  serious  fire.  There  were  always 
plenty  of  rifle  bullets  coming  over,  and  an  occasional 
one  of  the  shells  that  roared  constantly  past  or 
over  fell  amongst  the  guns.  A  few  men  had 
been  wounded,  and  one  had  been  killed,  and 
that  was  all. 

Then,  quite  suddenly,  a  tempest  of  high- 
explosive  shell  rained  down  on  the  battery,  in 
front  of,  behind,  over,  and  amongst  the  guns. 
Instinctively  the  men  hesitated  in  their  work, 
but  the  next  instant  the  voices  of  the  Section 
Commanders  brought  them  to  themselves.  There 
were  shelter-pits  and  dug-outs  close  by,  and, 
without  urgent  need  of  their  fire,  the  guns  might 
be  left  while  the  gunners  took  cover  till  the  storm 
was  over.  But  there  could  be  no  thought  of  that 
now,  while  the  picture  was  in  everyone's  mind 
of  the  infantry  out  there  being  hard  pressed  and 
overborne  by  the  weight  of  the  assault.  So  the 
gunners  stayed  by  their  guns  and  loaded,  laid,  and 
fired  as  fast  as  they  could  serve  their  pieces.  The 
gun  shields  give  httle  or  no  protection  from  high- 
explosive    shells,    because    these    burst    overhead 


ARTILLERY  SUPPORT  79 

and  fling  their  fragments  straight  down,  burst  in 
rear,  and  hurl  jagged  splinters  outwards  in  every 
direction.  The  men  were  as  open  and  unprotected 
to  them  as  bare  flesh  is  to  bullet  or  cold  steel ; 
but  they  knelt  or  sat  in  their  places,  and  pushed 
their  work  into  a  speed  that  was  only  hmited 
by  the  need  for  absolute  accuracy. 

A  shell  burst  close  in  rear  of  Number  One  gun, 
and  the  whirlwind  of  sphnters  and  bullets  struck 
down  half  the  detachment  at  a  blow.  The  fallen 
men  were  hfted  clear,  the  remaining  gunners  took 
up  their  appointed  share  of  the  lost  men's  duties, 
a  shell  was  slung  in,  the  breech  slammed  shut, 
the  firing-lever  jerked — and  Number  One  gun  was 
in  action  again  and  firing  almost  as  fast  as  Defore. 
The  sergeant  in  charge  of  another  gun  was  killed 
instantaneously  by  a  shrapnel  bullet  in  the  head. 
His  place  was  taken  by  the  next  senior  before 
the  last  convulsive  tremors  had  passed  through 
the  dead  man's  muscles ;  and  the  gun  kept  on 
without  missing  a  round. 

The  shell-fire  grew  more  and  more  intense. 
The  air  was  thick  and  choking  with  smoke  and 
chemical  fumes,  and  \dbrant  with  the  rush  and 
shriek  of  the  shells,  the  hum  of  bullets,  and  the 
ugly  whirr  of  sphnters,  the  crash  of  impacting 


80  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

shells,  and  ear-splitting  crack  of  the  guns'  discharge, 

the  *  r-r-rapp '    of  shrapnel  on   the  wet   ground, 

the  metalhc  clang  of  bullets  and  steel  fragments 

on  the  gun-shields  and  mountings.     But  through 

all  the  inferno  the   gunners  worked  on,   swiftly 

but   methodically.     After  each    shot  the    layers 

glared  anxiously  into  the  eye-piece  of  their  sights 

and  made  minute  movements  of  elevating  and 

traversing  wheels,   the  men  at  the  range-drums 

examined   them   carefully   and   readjusted   them 

exactly,  the  fuse-setters  twisted  the  rings  marking 

the  fuse's  time  of  burning  until  they  were  correct 

Hterally  to  a  hair-line ;    every  man  working  as 

if  the  gun  were  shooting   for  a  prize-competition 

cup.     Their  care,  as  well  as  their  speed,  was  needed ; 

for,  more  than  any  cup,  good  men  s  hves  were  at 

stake  and  hanging  on  their  close  and  accurate 

shooting.     For  if  the  sights  were  a  shade  to  right 

or  left  of  their  *  aiming  point,'  if  the  range  were 

shortened  by  a  fractional  turn  of  the  drum,  if  a 

fuse  was  wrongly  set  to  one  of  the  scores  of  tiny 

marks  on  its  ring,  that  shell  might  fall  on  the 

British  hne,  take  toll  of  the  hves  of  friend  instead 

of  foe,  go  to  break  down  the  hard-pressed  British 

resistance  instead  of  upholding  it. 

Man  after  man  was  hit  by  shell  sphnter  oi 


ARTILLERY  SUPPORT  81 

bullet,  but  no  man  left  his  place  unless  he  was  too 
badly  injured  to  carry  on.  The  seriously  wounded 
dragged  themselves  clear  as  best  they  could  and 
crawled  to  any  cover  from  the  bursting  shells ; 
the  dead  lay  where  they  fell.  The  detachments 
were  reduced  to  skeleton  crews.  One  Section 
Commander  laid  and  fired  a  gun ;  another,  with 
a  smashed  thigh,  sat  and  set  fuses  until  he  fainted 
from  loss  of  blood  and  from  pain.  The  Battery 
Commander  took  the  telephone  himself  and  sent 
the  telephonist  to  help  the  guns ;  and  when  a 
bursting  shell  tore  out  one  side  of  the  sandbags 
of  the  dug-out  the  Battery  Conmaander  rescued 
himself  and  the  instrument  from  the  wreckage, 
mended  the  broken  wire,  and  sat  in  the  open, 
alternately  hstening  at  the  receiver  and  yelling 
exhortation  and  advice  to  the  gunners  through 
the  Sergeant-Major's  megaphone.  The  Sergeant- 
Major  had  gone  on  the  run  to  round  up  every 
available  man,  and  brought  back  at  the  double 
the  Battery  cooks,  officers'  grooms,  mess  orderlies 
and  servants.  The  slackening  fire  of  the  Battery 
spurted  again  and  ran  up  to  something  like 
its  own  rate.  And  the  Major  cheered  the  men 
on  to  a  last  efiort,  shouting  the  Forward 
Officer's  message  that  the  attack  was  faihng,  was 


82  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

breaking,  was   being   wiped  out   mainly  by    the 

Battery's  fire. 

And  then,  as  suddenly  as  it  had  begun,  the 

tornado  of  shell-fire  about  them  ceased,  shifted 
its  storm-centre,  and  fell  roaring  and  crashing 
and  hammering  on  an  empty  hedge  and  ditch 
a  full  three  hundred  yards  away. 

And  at  the  same  moment  the  Major  shouted 
exultinsly.  *  They're  done  ! '  he  bellowed  down 
the  megaphone  ;  '  they're  beat !  The  attack  — 
and  he  fell  back  on  the  Forward  Ofiicer's  own 
words — '  the  attack  is  blotted  out.' 

Whereat  the  panting  gnnners  cheered  faintly 
and  short-windedly,  and  took  contentedly  the 
following  string  of  orders  to  lengthen  the  range 
and  slacken  the  rate  of  fire.  And  the  Battery 
made  shift  to  move  its  dead  from  amongst  the 
gun  and  wagon  wheels,  to  bandage  and  tie  up  its 
wounded  with  'first  field  dressings,'  to  shuffle 
and  sort  the  detachments  and  redistribute  the 
remaining  men  in  fair  proportion  amongst  the 
remaining  guns,  to  telephone  the  Brigade  Head- 
quarters to  ask  for  stretcher-bearers  and  ambulance, 
and  more  shells— doing  it  all,  as  it  were,  with  one 
hand  while  the  other  kept  the  guns  going,  and  the 
shells  pounding  down  their  appointed  paths. 


ARTILLERY  SUPPORT  83 

For  the  doing  of  two  or  more  things  at  once, 
and  doing  them  rapidly,  exactly,  and  efficiently,  the 
while  in  addition  highly  unpleasant  things  are  being 
done  to  them,  is  all  a  part  of  the  Gunners'  game  of 
*  close  and  accurate  artillery  support.' 


*  NOTHING  TO  REPORT ' 

'  On  the  Western  Front  there  is  nothing  to  report. 
All  remains  quiet,'' — Official  Despatch. 

The  7th  (Territorial)  King's  Own  Asterisks  had 
*  taken  over '  their  allotted  portion  of  the  trenches 
and  were  settling  themselves  in  for  the  night. 
When  the  two  facts  are  taken  in  conjunction  that 
it  was  an  extremely  unpleasant  night,  cold,  wet 
and  bleak,  and  the  7th  were  thoroughly  happy  and 
would  not  have  exchanged  places  with  any  other 
battalion  in  Flanders,  it  will  be  very  plain  to 
those  who  know  their  Front  that  the  7th  K.O.A. 
were  exceedingly  new  to  the  game.  They  were: 
and  actuaUy  this  was  their  first  spell  of  duty  in 
the  forward  firing  trenches. 

They  had  been  out  for  some  weeks,  weary 
weeks,  filled  with  the  digging  of  communication 
trenches  well  behind  the  firing  trenches,  with 
drills  and  with  various  '  fatigues '  of  what  they 
considered    a    navvying   rather    than    a    mihtary 

S4 


'  NOTHING  TO  REPORT '  85 

nature.  But  every  task  piled  upon  their  reluctant 
shoulders  had  been  performed  promptly  and 
efficiently,  and  now  at  last  they  were  enjoying  the 
reward  of  their  zeal — a  turn  in  the  forward  trenches. 
The  men  were  unfeignedly  pleased  with  them- 
selves, with  the  British  Army,  and  with  the  whole 
world .  T  he  non-coms .  were  anxious  and  desperately 
keen  to  see  everything  in  apple-pie  order.  The 
Company  officers  were  inclined  to  be  fidgety, 
and  the  O.C.  was  worried  and  concerned  to  the 
verge  of  nerves.  He  pored  over  the  trench  maps 
that  had  been  handed  to  him,  he  imagined  assaults 
delivered  on  this  point  and  that,  hurried,  at  the 
point  of  the  pencil,  his  supports  along  various 
blue  and  red  lines  to  the  threatened  angles  of 
the  wriggly  line  that  represented  the  forward 
trench,  drew  lines  from  his  machine-gun  emplace- 
ments to  the  red-inked  crosses  of  the  German  wire 
entanglements,  frowned  and  cogitated  over  the 
pencil  crosses  placed  by  the  O.C.  of  the  reUeved 
battahon  where  the  lurking-places  of  German 
maxims  were  suspected.  Afterwards  he  made  a 
long  and  exhaustive  tour  of  the  muddy  trenches, 
concealing  his  anxiety  from  the  junior  officers, 
and  speaking  lightly  and  cheerfully  to  them — 
following  therein  truly  and  instinctively  the  first 


86  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

principle  of  all  good  commanders  to  show  the  greater 
confidence  as  they  feel  it  the  less.  He  returned 
to  the  Battalion  Headquarters,  situated  in  a  very 
grimy  cellar  of  a  shell-wrecked  house  behind  the 
support  trenches,  and  partook  of  a  belated  dinner 
of  tinned  food  flavoured  with  grit  and  plaster 
dust. 

The  signallers  were  estabHshed  with  their 
telephones  at  the  foot  of  the  stone  stair  outside 
the  cellar  door,  and  into  this  cramped  *  exchange  ' 
ran  the  telephone  wires  from  the  companies  in 
the  trenches  and  from  the  Brigade  Headquarters  a 
mile  or  two  back.  Every  word  that  the  signallers 
spoke  was  plainly  heard  in  the  cellar,  and  every 
time  the  Colonel  heard  *  Hello !  Yes,  this  is 
H.Q.,'  he  sat  motionless  waiting  to  hear  what 
message  was  coming  through.  When  his  meal 
was  finished  he  resisted  an  impulse  to  *  phone ' 
all  the  forward  trenches,  asking  how  things  were, 
unlaced  his  boots,  paused,  and  laced  them  up 
again,  lay  down  on  a  very  gritty  mattress  in  a 
corner  of  the  cellar,  and  tried  to  sleep.  For  the 
first  hour  every  rattle  of  rifle  fire,  every  thud  of 
a  gun,  every  call  on  the  telephone  brought  him  up 
on  his  pillow,  his  ears  straining  to  catch  any  further 
sound.    After  about  the  tenth  alarm  he  reasoned 


•NOTHING  TO  REPORT'  87 

the  matter  out  with  himself  something  after  this 
fashion : — 

*  The  battalion  is  occupying  a  position  that 
has  not  been  attacked  for  weeks,  and  it  is  disposed 
as  other  Regular  battalions  have  been,  and  no  more 
and  no  less  effectually  than  they.  There  isn't 
an  officer  or  man  in  the  forward  trenches  who 
cannot  be  fully  trusted  to  keep  a  look-out  and  to 
resist  an  attack  to  the  last  breath.  There  is  no 
need  to  worry  or  keep  awake,  and  to  do  so  is 
practically  admitting  a  distrust  of  the  7th  K.O.A. 
I  trust  them  fully,  and  therefore  I  ought  to  go 
to  sleep.' 

Whereupon  the  Colonel  sat  up,  took  off  his 
wet  boots,  lay  down  again,  resolutely  closed  his 
eyes — and  remained  wide  awake  for  the  rest  of 
the  night. 

But  if  there  be  any  who  feel  inclined  to  smile 
at  the  nervousness  of  an  elderly,  stoutish,  and 
constitutionally  easy-going  Colonel  of  Territorials, 
I  would  remind  them  of  a  few  facts.  The  Colonel 
had  implicit  faith  in  the  stout- heartedness,  the 
spirit,  the  fighting  quality  of  his  battalion.  He 
had  had  the  handling  and  the  training  of  them 
ever  since  mobilisation,  and  he  knew  every  single 
man  of  them  as  well  as  they  knew  themselves. 


88  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

They  had  done  everything  asked  of  them  and 
borne  Hght-heartedly  rough  quarters,  bad  weather, 
hard  duties.  But — and  one  must  admit  it  a  big 
and  serious  '  but '  —  to-night  might  be  their 
real  and  their  first  testing  in  the  flame  and  fire 
of  War. 

Even  as  no  man  knows  how  he  will  feel  and 
behave  under  fire,  until  he  has  been  under  fire, 
so  no  regiment  or  battaUon  knows.  The  men 
were  razor-keen  for  action,  but  that  very  keenness 
might  lead  them  into  a  rashness,  a  fool  hardiness, 
which  would  precipitate  action.  The  Colonel 
beheved  they  would  stand  and  fight  to  the  last 
gasp  and  die  to  the  last  man  rather  than  yield 
a  yard  of  their  trench.  He  beheved  that  of  them 
even  as  he  beheved  it  of  himself — but  he  did  not 
know  it  of  them  any  more  than  he  knew  it  of 
himself.  Men,  apparently  every  bit  as  good 
as  him,  had  before  now  developed  some  *  white 
streak,'  some  folly,  some  stupidity,  in  the  stress 
and  strain  of  action.  Other  regiments,  apparently 
as  sound  as  his,  had  in  the  records  of  history 
failed  or  broken  in  a  crisis.  He  and  his  were 
new  and  untried,  and  mihtary  commanders  for 
innumerable  ages  had  doubted  and  mistrusted 
new  and  untried  troops. 


'NOTHING  TO  REPORT'  89 

Well  ...  he  had  done  his  best,  and  at  least 
the  next  twenty-four  hours  should  show  him  how 
good  or  how  bad  that  best  had  been.  But 
meantime  let  no  one  blame  him  for  his  anxiety 
or  nervousness. 

And  meantime  the  7th  Asterisks,  serenely 
unaware  of  their  Commanding  Officer's  worry 
and  doubt — and  to  be  fair  to  them  and  to  him 
it  must  be  stated  that  they  would  have  flouted 
scornfully  any  suggestion  that  he  had  held  them — 
joyfully  set  about  the  impossible  task  of  making 
themselves  comfortable,  and  the  congenial  one  of 
making  the  enemy  extremely  uncomfortable.  The 
sentries  were  duly  posted,  and  spent  an  entirely 
unnecessary  proportion  of  their  time  peering  over 
the  parapet. 

There  were  more  Verey  pistol  lights  burnt 
during  the  night  than  would  have  sufficed  a  trench- 
hardened  battalion  for  a  month,  and  the  Germans 
opposite,  having  in  hand  a  little  job  of  adding 
to  their  barbed- wire  defences,  were  puzzled  and 
rather  annoyed  by  the  unwonted  display  of  fire- 
works. They  fooHshly  vented  their  annoyance 
by  letting  off  a  few  rounds  of  rapid  fire  at  the 
opposition,  and  the  7th  Asterisks  eagerly  accepted 
the  challenge,  manned  their  parapets  and  proceeded 


90  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

to  pour  a  perfect  hurricane  of  fire  back  to  the 
challengers.  The  Germans,  with  the  exception 
of  about  a  dozen  picked  sharp-shooting  snipers, 
ceased  to  fire  and  took  careful  cover. 

The  snipers,  during  the  Asterisks'  three  minutes 
of  activity,  succeeded  in  scoring  seven  hits,  and 
the  Asterisks  found  themselves  in  possession  of 
a  casualty  list  of  one  killed  and  six  wounded 
before  the  Company  and  platoon  commanders 
had  managed  to  stop  the  shooting  and  get  the 
men  down  under  cover. 

When  the  shooting  had  ceased  and  the  casualties 
had  been  cleared  out  on  their  way  to  the  dressing 
station,  the  Asterisks  recharged  their  rifie- 
magazines  and  spent  a  good  hour  discussing  the 
incident,  those  men  who  had  been  beside  the 
casualties  finding  themselves  and  their  narratives 
of  how  it  happened  in  great  demand. 

And  one  of  the  casualties,  having  insisted, 
when  his  slight  wound  was  dressed,  on  returning 
to  the  trench,  had  to  deliver  a  series  of  lecturettes 
on  what  it  felt  like,  what  the  Medical  said,  how 
the  other  fellows  were,  how  the  dressing  station 
was  worked,  and  similar  subjects,  with  pantomimic 
illustrations  of  how  he  was  holding  his  rifle 
when  the  bullet  came  through  the  loophole,  and 


*  NOTHING  TO  REPORT  '  91 

how  he  was  still  fully  capable  of  continuing  to 
hold  it. 

A  heavy  shower  dispersed  the  audiences,  those 
of  the  men  who  were  free  to  do  so  returning  to 
muddy  and  leaky  dug-outs,  and  the  remainder 
taking  up  their  positions  at  the  parapet.  There 
was  as  much  chance  of  these  latter  standing  on 
their  heads  as  there  was  of  their  going  to  sleep,  but 
the  officers  made  so  many  visiting  rounds  to  be 
certain  of  their  sentries'  wakefulness,  and  spent 
so  long  on  each  round  and  on  the  fascinating 
peeps  over  into  '  the  neutral  ground,'  that  the  end 
of  one  round  was  hardly  completed  before  it  was 
time  to  begin  the  next. 

Occasionally  the  Germans  sent  up  a  flare, 
and  every  man  and  officer  of  the  K.O.A.  who 
was  awake  stared  out  through  the  loopholes  in 
expectation  of  they  knew  not  what.  They  also 
fired  ofi  a  good  many  'pistol  lights,'  and  it  was 
nearly  4  a.m.  before  the  Germans  ventured  to 
send  ont  their  working-party  over  the  parapet. 
Once  over,  they  followed  the  usual  routine,  throwing 
themselves  flat  in  the  mud  and  rank  grass  when  a 
light  flared  up  and  remaining  motionless  until 
it  died  out,  springing  to  silent  and  nervous  activity 
the    instant    darkness    fell,    working    mostly    by 


92  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

sense  of  touch,  and  keeping  one  eye  always  on 
the  British  parapet  for  the  first  hint  of  a  soaring 
light. 

The  *  neutral  ground '  between  the  trenches 
was  fairly  thickly  scattered  over  with  dead,  the 
majority  of  them  German,  and  it  was  easy 
enough  for  an  extra  score  or  so  of  men,  lying  prone 
and  motionless  as  the  dead  themselves,  to  be 
overlooked  in  the  shifting  light.  The  work  was 
proceeding  satisfactorily  and  was  almost  completed 
when  a  mischance  led  to  the  exposure  of  the  party. 

One  of  the  workers  was  in  the  very  act  of 
crawling  over  the  parapet  when  a  British  light 
flared.  Half-way  over  he  hesitated  one  moment 
whether  to  leap  back  or  forward,  then  hurriedly 
leapt  down  in  front  of  the  parapet  and  flung 
himself  flat  on  his  face.  He  was  just  too  late. 
The  lights  revealed  him  exactly  as  he  leapt,  and  a 
wildly  excited  King's  Own  Asterisk  pulled  back 
the  cut-ofi  of  his  magazine  and  opened  rapid  fire, 
yelling  frenziedly  at  the  same  time  that  they 
were  coming — were  coming — were  attacking — were 
charging — look  out ! 

Every  K.O.A.  on  his  feet  lost  no  time  in  joining 
in  the  *  mad  minute '  and  every  K.O.A.  who  had 
been  asleep  or  lying  down  was  up  in  a  twinkling 


*  NOTHING  TO  REPORT'  93 

and  blazing  over  the  parapet  before  his  eyes 
were  properly  opened.  The  machine-gun  detach- 
ment were  more  circumspect  if  no  less  eager.  The 
screen  before  the  wide  loophole  was  jerked  away 
and  the  fat  barrel  of  the  maxim  peered  out  and 
swung  smoothly  from  side  to  side,  looking  for  a 
fair  mark. 

It  had  not  long  to  wait.  The  German  working- 
party  *  stuck  it  out '  for  a  couple  of  minutes,  but 
with  hght  after  light  flaming  into  the  sky  and 
exposing  them  pitilessly,  with  the  British  trench 
crackling  and  spitting  fire  from  end  to  end,  with 
the  bullets  hissing  and  whistling  over  them,  and 
hailing  thick  amongst  them,  their  nerves  gave 
and  broke ;  in  a  frantic  desire  for  life  and  safety 
they  flung  away  the  last  chance  of  life  and  safety 
their  prone  and  motionless  position  gave  them. 

They  scrambled  to  their  feet,  a  score  of  long- 
cloaked,  crouching  figures,  glaringly  plain  and 
distinct  in  the  vivid  hght,  and  turned  to  run  for 
their  trench.  The  sheeting  bullets  caught  half  a 
dozen  and  dropped  them  before  they  had  well 
stood  up,  stumbled  another  two  or  three  over  before 
they  could  stir  a  couple  of  paces,  went  on  cutting 
down  the  remainder  swiftly  and  mercilessly.  The 
remainder    ran,     stumbhng     and     tripping    and 


94  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

staggering,  theii  legs  hampered  by  their  long 
coats,  their  feet  clogged  and  slipping  in  the  wet, 
greasy  mud.  The  eye  glaring  behind  the  swinging 
sights  of  the  maxim  caught  that  clear  target  of 
Fanning  figures,  the  muzzle  began  to  jet  forth  a 
stream  of  fire  and  hissing  bullets,  the  cartridge 
belt  to  click,  racing  through  the  breach. 

The  bullets  cut  a  path  of  flying  mud-splashes 
across  the  bare  ground  to  the  runners,  played  a 
moment  about  their  feet,  then  hfted  and  swept 
across  and  across — once,  twice,  thrice.  On  the 
first  sweep  the  thudding  bullets  found  their 
targets,  on  the  second  they  still  caught  some 
of  them,  on  the  third  they  sang  clear  across  and 
into  the  parapet,  for  no  figures  were  left  to  check 
their  flight.    The  working  party  was  wiped  out. 

It  took  the  excited  riflemen  another  minute 
or  two  to  reahse  that  there  was  nothing  left  to 
shoot  at  except  an  empty  parapet  and  some  heaps 
of  huddled  forms ;  but  the  pause  to  refill  the 
empty  magazines  steadied  them,  and  then  the 
fire  died  away. 

The  whole  thing  was  over  so  quickly  that  the 
rifle  fire  had  practically  ceased  before  the  Artillery 
behind  had  time  to  get  to  work,  and  by  the  time 
they  had  flung  a  few  shells  to  burst  in  thunder 


*  NOTHING  TO  REPOKT  '  95 

and  lightning  roar  and  flash  over  the  German 
parapet,  the  storm  of  rifle  fire  had  slackened  and 
passed.  Hearmg  it  die  away,  the  gmmers  also 
stopped,  reloaded,  and  laid  their  pieces,  waited 
the  reports  of  their  Forward  Officers,  and  on 
receiving  them  turned  into  their  dug-outs  and 
their  blankets  again. 

But  the  batteries  covering  the  front  held  by 
the  Asterisks  remained  by  their  guns  and  con- 
tinued to  throw  occasional  rounds  into  the  German 
trenches.  Their  Forward  Officers  had  passed  on 
the  word  received  from  the  Asterisks  of  a  sharp 
attack  quickly  beaten  back — that  being  the  natural 
conclusion  drawn  from  that  leaping  figure  on  the 
parapet  and  the  presence  of  Germans  in  the 
open — and  the  guns  kept  up  a  slow  rate  of  fire 
more  with  the  idea  of  showing  the  enemy  that 
the  defence  was  awake  and  waiting  for  them 
than  of  breaking  up  another  possible  attack.  The 
battalions  of  Regulars  to  either  side  of  the 
Asterisks  had  more  correctly  diagnosed  the  situa- 
tion as  '  false  alarm '  or  '  ten  rounds  rapid  on 
working  parties,'  and  their  supporting  Artillery 
did  no  more  than  carry  on  their  usual  night 
firing. 

The  result  of  it  all  was  that  the  Asterisks 


96  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

throughout  the  night  enjoyed  the  spectacle  of 
some  very  pretty  artillery  fire  in  the  dark  on  and 
over  the  trenches  facing  them,  and  also  the  much 
less  pleasing  one  of  German  shells  bursting  in 
the  British  trenches,  and  especially  in  those  of 
the  K.O.A.  They  had  the  heaviest  share  on  the 
simple  and  usual  principle  of  retahation,  whereby 
if  our  Section  A  of  trenches  is  shelled  we  shell 
the  German  section  facing  it,  and  vice  versa. 

The  fire  was  by  no  means  heavy  as  artillery 
fire  goes  these  days,  and  at  first  the  Asterisks 
were  not  greatly  disturbed  by  it.  But  even  a 
rate  of  three  or  four  shells  every  ten  or  fifteen 
minutes  is  galling,  and  necessitates  the  keeping 
of  close  cover  or  the  loss  of  a  fair  number  of  men. 
It  took  half  a  dozen  casualties  to  impress  firmly 
on  the  Asterisks  the  need  of  keeping  cover.  Shell 
casualties  have  an  extremely  ugly  look,  and 
some  of  the  Asterisks  felt  decidedly  squeamish 
at  sight  of  theirs — especially  of  one  where  the 
casualty  had  to  be  collected  piece  by  piece,  and 
removed  in  a  sack. 

For  an  hour  before  dawn  the  battalion  *  stood 
to,'  lining  the  trench  with  loaded  rifles  ready 
after  the  usual  and  accepted  fashion,  shivering 
despite    their    warm    clothing    and    mufflers,    and 


'NOTHING  TO  REPORT'  97 

woollen  caps  and  thick  great-coats  in  tlie  raw- 
tdged  cold  of  the  breaking  day.  For  an  hour 
they  stood  there  listening  to  the  whine  of  over- 
head bullets  and  the  sharp  *  slap '  of  well-aimed 
ones  in  the  parapet,  the  swish  and  crash  of  shells, 
the  distant  patter  of  rifle  fire  and  the  boom  of 
the  guns. 

That  hour  is  perhaps  always  the  worst  of 
the  twenty-four.  The  rousing  from  sleep,  the  turn- 
ing out  from  warm  or  even  from  wet  blankets, 
the  standing  still  in  a  water-logged  trench,  with 
everything — fingers  and  clothes  and  rifle  and 
trench-sides — cold  and  wet  and  clammy  to  the 
touch,  and  smeared  with  sticky  mud  and  clay, 
all  combine  to  make  the  morning  *  stand  to  arms  ' 
an  experience  that  no  amount  of  repetition  ever 
accustoms  one  to  or  makes  more  bearable. 

Even  the  Asterisks,  fresh  and  keen  and  en- 
thusiastic as  they  were,  with  all  the  interest 
that  novelty  gave  to  the  proceedings,  found  the 
hour  long-drawn  and  trying ;  and  it  was  with 
intense  relief  that  they  saw  the  frequently  con- 
sulted watches  mark  the  finish  of  the  time,  and 
received  the  word  to  break  ofi  from  their  vigil. 

They  set  about  fighting  fires  and  boihng, 
water  for  tea,  and  frying  a  meagre  bacon  ration 


98  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

in  their  mess-tin  lids,  preparing  and  eating  their 
breakfast.  The  meal  over,  they  began  on  their 
ordinary  routine  work  of  daily  trench  hfe. 

Picked  men  were  told  ofi  as  snipers  to  worry 
and  harass  the  enemy.  They  were  posted  at 
loopholes  and  in  various  positions  that  com- 
manded a  good  outlook,  and  they  fired  carefully 
and  dehberately  at  loopholes  in  the  enemy  para- 
pet, at  doors  and  windows  of  more  or  less  wrecked 
buildings  in  rear  of  the  German  hues,  at  any 
and  every  head  or  hand  that  showed  above  the 
German  parapet.  In  the  intervals  of  firing  they 
searched  through  their  glasses  every  foot  of 
parapet,  every  yard  of  ground,  every  tree  or 
bush,  hayrick  or  broken  building  that  looked  a 
likely  spot  to  make  cover  for  a  sniper  on  the 
other  side.  If  their  eye  caught  the  flash  of  a 
rifle,  the  instantly  vanishing  spurt  of  haze  or  hot 
air — ^too  thin  and  filmy  to  be  called  smoke — that 
spot  was  marked  down,  long  and  careful  search 
made  for  the  hidden  sniper,  and  a  sort  of  Bisley 
*  disappearing  target '  shoot  commenced,  until 
the  opponent  was  either  hit  or  driven  to  abandon 
his  position. 

The  enemy's  snipers  were,  of  course,  playing 
exactly  the  same  game,  and  either  because  they 


•NOTHING  TO  REPORT'  99 

were  more  adept  at  it,  or  because  the  Asterisks* 
snipers  were  more  reluctant  to  give  up  a  position 
after  it  was  *  spotted  *  and  hung  on  gamely,  deter- 
mined to  fight  it  out,  a  slow  but  steady  tally  was 
added  to  the  Asterisks'  casualty  hst. 

Along  the  firing  and  communication  trenches 
parties  set  to  work  of  various  sorts,  baihng  out 
water  from  the  trench  bottom,  putting  in  brush- 
wood or  brick  foundations,  building  up  and 
strengthening  dug-outs  and  parapets,  fiihng  sand- 
bags in  readiness  for  night  work  and  repairs  on 
any  portion  damaged  by  shell  fire.  f 

By  now  they  were  learning  to  keep  well  below 
the  parapet,  not  to  linger  in  portions  of  the  com- 
munication trench  that  were  enfiladed  by  shrapnel, 
to  stoop  low  and  pass  quickly  at  exposed  spots 
where  the  snipers  waited  a  chance  to  catch  an 
unwary  head.  They  had  learned  to  press  close 
and  flat  against  the  ^ce  of  the  trench  or  to  get 
well  down  at  the  first  hint  of  the  warning  rush 
of  an  approaching  shell ;  they  were  picking  up 
neatly  and  quickly  all  the  worst  danger  spots  and 
angles  and  corners  to  be  avoided  except  in  time 
of  urgent  need. 

One  thing  more  was  needed  to  complete  their 
education  in  the  routine  of  trench  warfare,  and  the 


100  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

one  thing  came  about  noon  just  as  tlie  Asterisks 
were  beginning  to  feel  pleasant  anticipations  of 
the  dinner  hour.  A  faint  and  rather  insignifi- 
cant *  bang '  sounded  out  in  front.  The  Asterisks 
never  even  noticed  it,  but  next  moment  when 
something  fell  with  a  thudding  *  splosh  *  on  the 
wet  ground  behind  the  trench  the  men  nearest 
the  spot  hftcd  their  heads  and  stared  curiously. 
Another  instant  and  with  a  thunderous  roar 
and  a  leaping  cloud  of  thick  smoke  the  bomb 
burst.  The  men  ducked  hastily,  but  one  or  two 
were  not  quick  enough  or  lucky  enough  to  escape, 
although  at  that  short  distance  they  were  cer- 
tainly lucky  in  escaping  with  nothing  worse  than 
flesh  wounds  from  the  fragments  of  old  iron, 
nails  and  metal  spHnters  that  whirled  outwards 
in  a  circle  from  the  bursting  bomb.  Everyone 
heard  the  second  shot  and  many  saw  the  bomb 
come  over  in  a  high  curve. 

As  it  dropped  it  appeared  to  be  coming  straight 
down  into  the  trench  and  every  man  had  an 
uncomfortable  feehng  that  the  thing  was  going 
to  fall  directly  on  him.  Actually  it  fell  short 
and  well  out  in  front  of  the  trench  and  only  a 
few  sphnters  and  a  shower  of  earth  whizzed  over 
harmlessly  high. 


'NOTHING  TO  REPORT'  101 

The  third  was  another  *  over '  and  the  fourth 
another  *  short '  and  the  Asterisks,  unaware  of 
the  significance  of  the  closing-in  *  bracket '  began 
to  feel  rehef  and  a  trifle  of  contempt  for  this 
clumsy  slow-moving  a  nd  visible  missile.  Their  relief 
and  contempt  vanished  for  ever  when  the  fifth 
bomb  fell  exactly  in  the  trench,  burst  with  a 
nerve-shattering  roar,  and  filled  the  air  with 
whistUng  fragments  and  dense  choking,  bhnding 
smoke  and  stench. 

Having  got  their  range  and  angle  accurately, 
the  Germans  proceeded  to  hurl  bomb  after  bomb 
with  the  most  horrible  exactness  and  persistency. 
For  two  hundred  yards  up  and  down  the  trench 
there  was  no  escape  from  the  blast  of  the  bursts. 
It  was  no  good  crouching  low,  or  flattening  up 
against  the  parapet;  for  the  bombs  dropped 
straight  down  and  struck  out  backwards  and  side- 
ways and  in  every  direction. 

Even  the  roofed-in  dug-outs  gave  no  security. 
A  bomb  that  fell  just  outside  the  entrance  of  on© 
dug-out,  riddled  one  man  lying  inside,  and  blew 
another  who  was  crouching  in  the  entrance  out- 
wards bodily  across  the  trench,  stunning  him  with 
the  shock  and  injuring  him  in  a  score  of  places. 
Plenty   of    the   bombs    fell   short  of  the   trench. 


102  BETV/EEN  THE  LINES 

but  too  many  fell  fairly  in  it.  Wiien  one  did  so 
there  was  only  one  thing  to  do — to  throw  oneself 
violently  down  in  the  mud  of  the  trench  bottom, 
and  wait,  heart  in  mouth,  for  the  crash  of  the 
explosion. 

The  Artillery,  on  being  appealed  to,  pounded 
the  front  German  trench  for  an  hour,  but  made 
no  impression  on  the  trench-mortar.  The  O.C. 
of  the  Asterisks  telephoned  the  Brigade  asking 
what  he  was  to  do  to  stop  the  torment  and  de- 
struction, and  in  reply  was  told  he  ought  to  bomb 
back  at  the  bomb-throwers.  But  the  Asterisks 
had  already  tried  that  without  any  success.  The 
distance  was  too  great  for  hand  bombs  to  reach, 
and  the  men  appeared  to  make  poor  shooting 
with  the  rifle  grenades. 

'  Why  not  try  the  trench-mortar  ? '  asked  the 
Brigade ;  to  which  the  harassed  Colonel  replied 
conclusively  because  he  didn't  possess  one,  hadn't 
a  bomb  for  one,  and  hadn't  a  man  or  officer  who 
knew  how  to  use  one. 

The  Brigade  apparently  learnt  this  with  sur- 
prise, and  replied  vaguely  that  steps  would  be 
taken,  and  that  an  officer  and  detachment  of  his 
battalion  must  receive  a  couise  of  instruction. 

The  Colonel  replied  with  spirit  that  he  was  glad 


•NOTHING  TO  REPORT'  103 

to  hear  all  this,  but  in  the  meantime  what  was 
he  to  do  to  prevent  his  battalion  being  blown 
piecemeal  out  of  their  trenches  ? 

It  all  ended  eventually  in  the  arrival  of  a 
trench-mortar  and  a  pile  of  bombs  from  some- 
where and  a  very  youthful  and  very  much  annoyed 
Artillery  subaltern  from  somewhere  else.  The 
Colonel  was  most  enormously  relieved  by  these 
arrivals,  but  his  high  hopes  were  a  good  deal 
dashed  by  the  artilleryman. 

That  youth  explained  that  he  was  in  effect 
totally  ignorant  of  trench-mortars  and  their  ways, 
that  he  had  been  shown  the  thing  a  week  ago, 
had  it  explained  to  him — so  far  as  such  a  rotten 
toy  could  be  explained — and  had  fired  two  shots 
from  it.  However,  he  said  briskly,  if  ,oS-handedly, 
he  was  ready  to  have  a  go  with  it  and  see  what  he 
could  do. 

The  trench-mortar  was  carried  down  to  the 
forward  trench,  and  on  the  way  down  behind 
it  the  youngster  discoursed  to  the  O.C.  of  the 
Asterisks  on  the  '  awful  rot '  of  a  gunner  officer 
being  chased  off  on  to  a  job  like  this — any  know- 
ledge of  gunnery  being  entirely  superfluous  and, 
indeed,  wasted  on  such  a  kid's  toy.  And  the 
O.C,   looking   at   the   trench-mortar   being   pre- 


104  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

pared,  made  a  mental  remark  about  *  the  moutha 
of  babes '   and  the  wise  words  thereof. 

The  weapon  is  easily  described.  It  was  a 
mere  cylinder  of  cast  iron,  closed  at  one  end,  open 
at  the  other,  and  with  a  roomy  '  touch- hole ' 
at  the  closed  end.  The  carriage  consisted  of 
two  uprights  on  a  base,  with  mortar  between 
them  and  pointing  up  at  an  angle  of  about 
forty-five  degrees. 

The  charge  was  little  packets  of  gunpowder 
tied  up  in  paper  in  measured  doses.  The  bomb 
was  a  tin-can — an  empty  jam-tin,  mostly — fiUed 
with  a  bursting  charge  and  fragments  of  metal, 
and  with  an  inch  or  so  of  the  fuse  protruding. 

The  piece  was  loaded  by  throwing  a  few  packets 
of  powder  into  the  muzzle,  poking  them  with 
a  piece  of  stick  to  burst  the  paper,  and  carefully 
sliding  the  bomb  down  on  top  of  the  charge.  A 
length  of  fuse  was  poked  into  the  touch- hole 
and  the  end  Ht,  sufiicient  length  being  given  to 
allow  the  lighter  to  get  round  the  nearest  corner 
before  the  mortar  fired. 

The  whole  thing  was  too  rubbishy  and  cheaply 
and  rougtily  made  to  have  been  fit  for  use  as  a 
'  kid's  toy,*  as  the  subaltern  called  it.  To  imagine 
it  being  used  as  a  weapon  of  precision  in  a  war 


*  NOTHING  TO  REPORT  '  105 

distinguished  above  all  others  as  one  of  scientifio- 
ally  perfect  weapons  and  implements  was  ridiculous 
beyond  words. 

The  Colonel  watched  the  business  of  loading 
and  laying  with  amazement  and  consternation. 

*  Is  it  possible  to — er — hit  anything  with 
that  ?  '   he  asked. 

'  Well,  more  or  less,'  said  the  youthful  sub- 
altern doubtfully.  *  There's  a  certain  amount 
of  luck  about  it,  I  believe.' 

*  But  why  on  earth,'  said  the  Colonel,  begin- 
ning to  wax  indignant,  *  do  they  send  such  a 
museum  rehc  here  to  fight  a  reasonably  accurate 
and  decidedly  destructive  mortar  ?  * 

The  subaltern  chuckled. 

*  That's  not  any  museum  antique,'  he  said. 
'That's  a  Mortar,  Trench,  Mark  Something  or 
other — the  latest,  the  most  modern  weapon  of  the 
kind  in  the  British  Army.  It  was  made,  I  believe, 
in  the  Royal  Arsenal,  and  it  is  still  being  made 
and  issued  for  use  in  the  field — the  Engineers 
collecting  the  empty  jam-pots  and  converting 
them  to  bombs.    They've  only  had  four  or  five 

months,    y'see,    to    evolve    a look    out,    sir ! 

Here's  one  of  theirs  ! ' 

The    resulting    explosion    flung    a    good    deal 


106  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

of  mud  over  the  parapet  on  to  the  Colonel  and 
the  subaltern,  and  raised  the  youth  to  wrath. 

*  Beasts  !  *  he  said  angrily,  and  poked  a  length 
of  fuse  in  the  touch-hole.  *  Get  away  round 
the   traverse ! '    he   ordered   the   mob   near   him. 

*  And  you^d  better  go,  too,  sir^ — as  I  will  when 
IVe  touched  her  ofi.  Y'see,  she's  just  as  hable 
to  explode  as  not,  and,  if  she  does,  she'd  make 
more  mess  in  this  trench  than  I  can  ever  hope 
she  will  in  a  German  one.' 

The  Colonel  retired  round  the  nearest  traverse, 
and  next  moment  the  lieutenant  plunged  round 
after  him  just  as  the  mortar  went  oS  v/ith 
a  resounding  bang.  Every  man  in  the  trench 
watched  the  bomb  rise,  twirhng  and  twisting, 
and  fall  again,  turning  end  over  end  towards 
the  German  trench. 

At  about  the  moment  he  judged  it  should 
burst,  the  lieutenant  poked  his  head  up  over 
the  parapet,  but  bobbed  down  hurriedly  as  a 
couple  of  bullets  sang  past  his  ear. 

*  Pretty   nippy    lot   across   there ! '     he    said. 

*  I  must  find  a  loophole  to  observe  from.  And 
p'r'aps  you'd  tell  some  of  your  people  to  keep 
up  a  brisk  fiire  on  that  parapet  to  stop  'em  aiming 
too  easy  at  me.     Now  we'll  try  another.' 


*  NOTHING  TO  EEPORT '  107 

At  the  next  bang  from  the  opposite  trench 
he  risked  another  quick  peep  over  and  this  time 
ducked  down  with  an  exclamation  of  delight. 

*  I've  spotted  him/  he  said.  *  Just  caught 
the  haze  of  his  smoke.  Down  the  trench  about 
fifty  yards.  So  we'll  try  trail-left  a  piece^ — 
or  would  if  this  old  drain-pipe  had  a  trail.' 

He  relaid  his  mortar  carefully,  and  fired 
again.  Having  no  sights  or  arrangement  what- 
ever for  laying  beyond  a  general  look  over  the 
line  of  its  barrel  and  a  pinch  more  or  less  of  powder 
in  the  charge,  it  can  only  be  called  a  piece  of 
astounding  good  luck  that  the  jam-pot  bomb 
fell  almost  fairly  on  the  top  of  the  German  mortar. 
There  was  a  most  satisfying  uproar  and  eddying 
volume  of  smoke  and  eruption  of  earth,  and 
the  lieutenant  stared  through  a  loophole  dumb- 
founded with  dehght. 

*  I'll  swear,'  he  said,  '  that  our  old  Plum-and- 
Apple  pot  never  made  a  burst  that  big.  I  do 
believe  it  must  have  flopped  down  on  the  other 
fellow  and  blown  up  one  or  two  of  his  bombs  same 
time.  I  say,  isn't  that  the  most  gorgeous  good 
luck  ?  Well,  good  enough  to  go  on  with.  We'll 
have  a  chance  for  some  peaceful  practice  now  ? ' 

Apparently,    since    the    other    mortar    ceased 


108  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

to  fire,  it  must  have  been  put  out  of  action,  and 
the  Heutenant  spent  a  useful  hour  pot-shotting 
at  the  other  trench. 

The  shooting  was,  to  say  the  least,  erratic 
With  apparently  the  same  charge  and  the  same 
tilt  on  the  mortar,  one  bomb  would  drop  yards 
short  and  another  yards  over.  If  one  in  three 
went  within  three  yards  of  the  trench,  if  one 
in  six  fell  in  the  trench,  it  was,  according  to  the 
heutenant,  a  high  average,  and  as  much  as  any 
man  had  a  right  to  expect.  But  at  the  end  of 
the  hour,  the  Asterisks,  who  had  been  hugely 
enjoying  the  performance,  and  particularly  the 
cessation  of  German  bombs,  were  horrified  to 
hear  a  double  report  from  the  German  trench,  and 
to  see  two  dark  blobs  fall  twinkling  from  the  sky. 

The  following  hour  was  a  nightmare.  Theii 
trench-mortar  was  completely  out-shot.  Those 
fiendish  bombs  rained  down  one  after  the  other 
along  the  trench,  burst  in  devastating  circles  of 
flame  and  smoke  and  whirling  metal  here,  there, 
and  everywhere. 

The  lieutenant  replied  gallantly.  A  dozen 
times  he  had  to  shift  position,  because  he  was 
obviously  located,  and  was  being  dehberately 
bombarded. 


•NOTHING  TO  REPORT'  109 

But  at  last  the  gunner  officer  had  to  retire 
from  the  contest.  His  mortar  showed  distinct 
signs  of  going  to  pieces— the  muzzle-end  having 
begun  to  split  and  crack,  and  the  breech-end 
swelling  in  a  dangerous-looking  bulge. 

*  Look  at  her/  said  the  lieutenant  disgustedly. 
*  Look  at  her  opening  out  an'  unfolding  herself 
like  a  spht-hpped  ox-eyed  daisy.  Anyhow,  this 
is  my  last  bomb,  so  the  performance  must  close 
down  till  we  get  some  more  jam-pots  loaded  up.' 

The  enemy  mortars  were  evidently  of  better 
make,  for  they  continued  to  bombard  the  sufiering 
Asterisks  for  another  full  hour.  They  did  a  fair 
amount  of  damage  to  the  trench  and  parapet, 
and  the  Germans  seized  the  opportunity  of  the 
Asterisks'  attempted  repairs  to  put  in  some 
maxim  practice  and  a  few  rounds  of  shrapnel. 

Altogether,  the  7th  King's  Own  Asterisks 
had  a  Hvely  twenty-four  hours  of  it,  and  their 
casualties  were  heavy,  far  beyond  the  average 
of  an  ordinary  day's  trench  work.  Forty-seven 
they  totalled  in  all — nine  killed  and  thirty- 
eight  wounded. 

They  were  reheved  that  m'ght,  this  short 
spell  being  designed  as  a  sort  of  introduction  or 
breaking  in  or  blooding  to  the  game. 


110  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

Taking  it  all  round,  the  Asterisks  were  fully 
pleased  with  themselves.  Their  Colonel  had  com- 
plimented them  on  their  behaviour,  and  they 
spent  the  next  few  days  back  in  the  reserve,  specu- 
lating on  what  the  papers  would  say  about  them. 
The  optimists  were  positive  they  Would  have  a 
full  column  at  least. 

'  We  beat  off  an  attack,'  they  said.  '  There's 
sure  to  be  a  bit  in  about  that.  And  look  at  the 
way  we  were  shelled,  and  our  Artillery  shelled 
back.  There  was  a  pretty  fair  imitation  of  a 
first-class  battle  for  a  bit,  and  most  likely  there 
would  have  been  one  if  we  hadn't  scuppered 
that  attack.  And  don't  forget  the  bombing  we 
stuck  out — and  the  casualties.  Doesn't  every 
one  tell  us  they  were  extra  heavy  ?  And  I  beheve 
we  are  about  the  first  Terrier  lot  to  be  in  a  heavy 
"  do  "  in  the  forward  trenches.  You  see — it'll 
be  a  column  at  least,  and  may  be  two.' 

The  pessimists  declared  that  two  or  three 
paragraphs  were  all  they  could  expect,  on  account 
of  the  silly  fashion  of  not  pubHshing  details  of 
engagements.  *  And  whatever  mention  we  do  get,' 
they  said,  *  won't  say  a  word  about  the  K.O.A. 
It'll  just  be  a  "  battalion,"  or  maybe  "  a  Terri- 
torial battaHon,"  and  no  more.' 


*  NOTHING  TO  REPORT'  111 

*  Anyway,'  said  the  optimists,  '  we'll  be  able 
to  write  home  to  our  people  and  our  pals,  and 
tell  them  it  was  us,  though  the  despatches  don't 
mention  us  by  name.' 

But  optimists  and  pessimists  alike  grabbed 
the  papers  that  came  to  hand  each  day,  and 
searched  eagerly  for  the  Eye-witness'  reports, 
or  the  official  despatch  or  communique.  At 
last  there  reached  them  the  paper  with  the  com- 
munique dated  the  day  after  their  day  in  the 
trenches.  They  stared  at  it,  and  then  hurried 
over  the  other  pages,  turned  back,  and  examined 
them  carefully  one  by  one.  There  were  columns 
and  columns  about  a  strike  and  other  purely 
domestic  matters  at  home,  but  not  a  word  about 
the  7th  Eings  Own  Asterisks  (Territorial),  not 
a  word  about  their  nine  dead  and  thirty-six 
wounded— not  a  word;  and,  more  than  that, 
barely  a  word  about  the  Army,  or  the  Front,  or 
the  War. 

*  There  might  be  no  bloomin'  war  at  all  to 
look  at  this  paper,'  said  one  in  disgust.  '  There's 
plenty  about  speeding-up  the  factories  (an'  it's 
about  time  they  speeded  up  some  one  to  make 
something  better'n  that  drain-pipe  or  jam-pot 
bomb  we  saw),  plenty  about  those  loafin'  swine 


112  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

at  home,  but  not  a  bloomin'  word  about  us  *ere. 
It  makes  me  fair  sick.' 

*  P'raps  there  wasn't  time  to  get  it  in,'  sug- 
gested one  of  the  most  persistent  optimists. 
*  P'raps  they'll  have  it  in  to-morrow.* 

*  P'raps,'  said  the  disgusted  one  contempt- 
uously, *  an'  p'raps  not.  Look  at  the  date  of 
that  despatch.  Isn't  that  for  the  day  we  was  in 
the  thick  of  it  ?  An'  look  what  it  says.  Don't 
that  make  you  sick  ?  ' 

And  in  truth  it  did  make  them  *sick.'  For 
their  night  and  day  of  fighting— their  defeat 
of  an  attack,  their  suffering  under  shell,  ballet, 
and  bomb,  their  nine  killed  and  their  thirty-six 
wounded — ^were  all  ignored  and  passed  by. 

The  despatch  for  that  day  said  simply :  *  On 
the  Western  Front  there  is  nothing  to  report. 
All  remains  quiet.' 


THE  PROMISE  OF  SPRING 

*  Only  when  the  fields  and  roads  are  sufficiently 
dry  will  the  favourable  moment  have  come  for  an 
advance.^ — Extract  from  Official  Despatch. 

It  is  Sunday,  and  the  regiment  marching  out 
towards  the  firing  line  and  its  turn  of  duty  in 
the  trenches  meets  on  the  road  every  now  and 
then  a  peasant  woman  on  her  way  to  church. 
Some  of  the  women  are  young  and  pretty,  some 
old  and  wrinkled  and  worn ;  they  walk  alone  or 
in  couples  or  threes,  but  all  alike  are  dressed  in 
black,  and  all  alike  tramp  slowly,  duUy,  without 
spring  to  their  step.  Over  them  the  sun  shines 
in  a  blue  sky,  round  them  the  birds  sing  and  the 
trees  and  fields  spread  green  and  fresh;  the 
flush  of  healthy  spring  is  on  the  countryside, 
the  promise  of  warm,  full-blooded  summer  pulses 
in  the  air.  But  there  is  no  hint  of  spring  or 
summer  in  the  sad -eyed  faces  or  the  listless, 
slow  movements  of  the  women.    It  is  a  fuU  dozen 

113  I 


114  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

miles  to  the  firing  line,  and  to  eye  or  ear,  unless 
one  knows  where  and  how  to  look  and  listen, 
there  is  no  sign  of  anything  but  peace  and  pleasant 
life  in  the  surroundings.  But  these  black-clad 
women  do  know — know  that  the  cool  green 
clump  of  trees  over  on  the  hill-side  hides  a  roof- 
less ruin  with  fire-biackened  walls ;  that  the 
church  spire  that  for  all  their  lives  they  had  seen 
out  there  over  the  sky-line  is  no  longer  visible 
because  it  lies  shell-smitten  to  a  tumbled  heap 
of  brick  and  stone  and  mortar ;  that  the  gUnt 
of  white  wood  and  spot  of  scarlet  yonder  in  the 
field  is  the  rough  wooden  cross  with  a  hepi  on 
top  marking  the  grave  of  a  soldier  of  France  ;  that 
down  in  the  hollow  just  out  of  sight  are  over  a 
score  of  those  cap-crowned  crosses ;  that  a  broad 
belt  of  those  graves  runs  unbroken  across  this 
sunlit  face  of  France.  They  know,  too,  that  those 
dull  booms  that  travel  faintly  to  the  ear  are 
telling  plain  of  more  graves  and  of  more  women 
that  will  wear  black.  It  is  httle  wonder  that 
there  are  few  smiles  to  be  seen  on  the  faces  of 
these  women  by  the  wayside.  They  have  seen 
and  heard  the  red  wrath  of  war,  not  in  the  pictures 
of  the  illustrated  papers,  not  in  the  cinema  shows, 
not  even  by  the  word-oi-mouth  tales  of  chanco 


THE  PROMISE  OF  SPRING  115 

men  who  have  been  in  it ;  but  at  first-hand, 
with  their  own  eyes  and  ears,  in  the  leaping  flames 
of  burning  homes,  in  the  puffing  white  clouds  of 
the  shrapnel,  the  black  spoutiLj  smoke  of  the 
high-explosive,  in  the  deafening  thunder  of  the 
guns,  the  yeUing  shells,  the  crash  of  falHng  walls, 
the  groans  of  wounded  men,  the  screams  of 
frightened  children.  Some  of  them  may  have 
seen  the  shattered  hulks  of  men  borne  past  on 
the  sagging  stretchers ;  all  of  them  have  seen 
the  laden  ambulance  wagons  and  motors  crawling 
slowly  back  to  the  hospitals. 

And  of  these  women  you  do  not  say,  as  you 
would  of  our  women  at  home,  that  they  may 
perhaps  have  friend  or  relation,  a  son,  a  brother, 
a  husband,  a  lover,  at  the  front.  You  say  with 
certainty  they  have  one  or  other  of  these,  and 
may  have  all,  that  every  man  they  know,  of  an 
age  between,  say,  eighteen  and  forty,  is  serving 
his  country  in  the  field  or  in  the  workshops — and 
mostly  in  the  field — ^if  so  be  they  are  still  ahve 
to  serve. 

The  men  in  the  marching  khaki  regiment 
know  all  these  things,  and  there  are  respect  and 
sympathy  in  the  glances  and  the  greetings  that 
pass  from  them  to  the  women.    *  They're  good 


116  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

plucked  'uns,'  they  tell  each  other,  and  wonder 
how  our  women  at  home  would  shape  at  this  game, 
and  whether  they  would  go  on  hving  in  a  house 
that  was  next  door  to  one  blown  to  pieces  by  a 
shell  yesterday,  and  keep  on  working  in  fields 
where  hardly  a  day  passed  without  a  shell 
screaming  overhead,  whether  they'd  still  go  about 
their  work  as  best  they  could  for  six  days  a  week 
and  then  to  church  on  Sunday. 

Two  women,  one  young  and  Hssom,  the  other 
bent  and  frail  and  chnging  with  her  old  arm 
to  the  erect  figure  beside  her,  stand  aside  close 
to  the  ditch  and  watch  the  regiment  tramp  by. 
'  Cheer  up,  mother,'  one  man  calls.  *  We're  goin' 
to  shift  the  Boshies  out  for  you,'  and  *  Bong 
jewer,'  says  another,  waving  his  hand.  Another 
pulls  a  sprig  of  Hlac  from  his  cap  and  thrusts  it 
out  as  he  passes.  *  Souvenir ! '  he  says,  lightly, 
and  the  young  woman  catches  the  blossom  and 
draws  herself  up  with  her  eyes  sparkhng  and 
calls,  *  Bonne  chance.  Messieurs.  Goo-o-o-d  lock.' 
She  repeats  the  words  over  and  over  while  the 
regiment  passes,  and  the  men  answer,  *  Bong 
chawnse '  and  *  Good  luck,'  and  such  scraps  of 
French  as  they  know — or  think  they  know.  The 
'vomen  stand  in  the   sunshine   and  watch  them 


THE  PROMISE  OF  SPRING  117 

long  after  they  have  passed,  and  then  turn 
slowly  and  move  on  to  their  church  and  their 
prayers. 

The  regiment  tramps  on.  It  moves  with 
the  assured  stamp  and  swing  of  men  who  know 
themselves  and  know  their  game,  and  have  con- 
fidence in  their  strength  and  fitness.  Their  clothes 
are  faded  and  weather-stained,  their  belts  and 
straps  and  equipments  chafed  and  worn,  the 
woodwork  of  their  rifles  smooth  of  butt  and  shiny 
of  hand-grip  from  much  using  and  cleaning. 
Their  faces  bronzed  and  weather-beaten,  and  with 
a  dew  of  perspiration  just  damping  their  foreheads 
— where  men  less  fit  would  be  streaming  sweat 
— are  full-cheeked  and  glowing  with  health,  and 
cheek  and  chin  razored  clean  and  smooth  as  a 
guardsman's  going  on  church  parade.  The  whole 
regiment  looks  fresh  and  well  set-up  and  clean-cut, 
satisfied  with  the  day  and  not  bothering  about 
the  morrow,  magnificently  strong  and  healthy, 
carelessly  content  and  happy,  not  anxious  to  go 
out  of  its  way  to  find  a  fight,  but  impossible  to 
move  aside  from  its  way  by  the  fight  that  does 
find  it — ^all  of  which  is  to  say  it  looks  exactly 
what  it  is,  a  British  regiment  of  the  regular  Line, 
war-hardened  by  eight  or  nine  months'    fighting. 


118  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

moving  up  from  a  four  days*  rest  back  into  the 
firing  line. 

It  is  fairly  early  in  the  day,  and  the  sun, 
although  it  is  bright  enough  to  bring  out  the 
full  colour  of  the  green  grass  and  trees,  the  yellow 
laburnum,  and  the  purple  hlac,  is  not  hot  enough 
to  make  marching  uncomfortable.  The  road, 
a  main  route  between  two  towns,  is  paved  with 
flat  cobbles  about  the  size  of  large  bricks,  and 
bordered  mile  after  mile  with  tall  poplars.  There 
are  farms  and  hamlets  and  villages  strung  close 
along  the  road,  and  round  and  about  all  these 
houses  are  women  and  children,  and  many  men 
in  khaki,  a  few  dogs,  some  pigs  perhaps,  and  near 
the  farms  plenty  of  poultry.  By  most  of  the 
farms,  too,  are  orchards  and  fruit-trees  in  blossom ; 
and  in  some  of  these  hues  of  horses  are  ranked  oi 
wagons  are  parked,  sheltered  by  the  trees  from 
aerial  observation.  For  all  this,  it  must  be  remem- 
bered, is  far  enough  back  from  the  firing  line  to 
be  beyond  the  reach  of  any  but  the  longest-range 
guns — guns  so  big  that  they  are  not  hkely  to 
waste  some  tons  of  shells  on  the  oS-chance  of 
hitting  an  encampment  and  disabhng  few  or  many 
horses  or  wagons. 

Towards  noon  the  regiment  swings  ofi  the  road 


THE  PROMISE  OF  SPRING  119 

and  halts  in  a  large  orchiard ;  rifles  are  stood  aside, 
equipments  and  packs  are  thrown  ofi,  tunics  un- 
buttoned and  flung  open  or  ofi,  and  the  men  drop 
with  puffing  sighs  of  satisfaction  on  the  springy 
turf  under  the  shade  of  the  fruit-trees.  The 
*  travelhng  cookers '  rumble  up  and  huge  caul- 
drons of  stew  and  potatoes  are  slung  ofi,  carried 
to  the  difierent  companies,  and  served  steaming 
hot  to  the  hungry  men.  A  boon  among  boons 
these  same  cookers,  less  so  perhaps  now  that  the 
warmer  weather  is  here,  but  a  blessing  beyond 
price  in  the  bitter  cold  and  constant  wet  of  the 
past  winter,  when  a  hot  meal  served  without 
waiting  kept  heart  in  many  men  and  even  life 
itself  in  some.  Their  fires  were  ht  before  the 
regiment  broke  camp  this  morning,  and  the 
dinners  have  been  jolting  over  the  long  miles 
since  sun-up,  cooking  as  comfortably  and  well 
as  they  would  in  the  best-appointed  camp  or 
barrack  cook-house. 

The  men  eat  mightily,  then  light  their  pipes 
and  cigarettes  and  loll  at  their  ease.  The  trees 
are  masses  of  clustering  pink  and  white  blossom, 
the  grass  is  carpeted  thick  with  the  white  of 
fallen  petals  and  splashed  with  sunhght  and  shade. 
A  few  slow-moving  clouds  drift  lazily  across  the 


120  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

blue  sky,  the  big,  fat  bees  drone  their  sleepy  song 
amongst  the  blossoms,  the  birds  rustle  and  twitter 
amongst  the  leaves  and  flit  from  bough  to  bough. 
It  would  be  hard  to  find  a  more  peaceful  picture 
in  any  country  steeped  in  the  most  profound 
peace.  There  is  not  one  jarring  note — ^until  the 
*  honk,  honk  '  of  a  motor  is  followed  by  the  breath- 
less, panting  whirr  of  the  engine,  and  a  big  car 
flashes  down  the  road  and  past,  travelling  at.  the 
topmost  of  its  top  speed.  There  is  just  time 
to  ghmpse  the  khaki  hood  and  the  thick  scarlet 
cross  blazing  on  a  white  circle,  and  the  car  is 
gone.  Empty  as  it  is,  it  is  moving  fast,  and 
with  luck  and  a  clear  road  it  will  be  well  inside  the 
danger  zone  at  the  back  door  of  the  trenches  in 
leas  than  twenty  minutes.  In  half  an  hour  per- 
haps it  will  have  picked  up  its  full  load,  and  be 
sliding  back  smoothly  and  gently  down  the  cobbled 
road,  swinging  carefully  now  to  this  side  to  avoid 
some  scattered  bricks,  now  to  that  to  dodge  a 
shell-hole  patched  with  gravel,  driven  down  as 
tenderly  and  gently  as  it  was  driven  up  fiercely 
and  recklessly. 

Presently  there  are  a  few  quiet  orders,  a  few 
minutes'  stir  and  movement,  a  shifting  to  and 
fro  of  khaki  against  the  green  and  pink  and  white 


THE  PROMISE  OF  SPRING  121 

.  .  .  and  the  companies  have  fallen  in  and  stand 
in  straight  rulered  ranks.  A  pause,  a  sharp  order 
or  two,  and  the  quick  staccato  of  '  numbering 
oS  *  ripples  swiftly  down  the  Hues ;  another 
pause,  another  order,  the  long  ranks  blur  and 
melt,  harden  and  halt  instantly  in  a  new  shape ; 
and  evenly  and  steadily  the  ranked  fours  swing 
oS,  turn  out  into  the  road,  and  go  tramping  down 
between  the  poplars.  There  has  been  no  flurry, 
no  hustle,  no  confusion.  The  whole  thing  has 
moved  with  the  smoothness  and  precision  and 
efiortless  ease  of  a  properly  adjusted,  well-oiled 
machine — ^which,  after  all,  is  just  what  the  regi- 
ment is.  The  pace  is  apparently  leisurely,  or 
even  lazy,  but  it  eats  up  the  miles  amazingly, 
and  it  can  be  kept  up  with  the  shortest  of  halts 
from  dawn  to  dusk. 

As  the  miles  unwind  behind  the  regiment 
the  character  of  the  country  begins  to  change. 
There  are  fewer  women  and  children  to  be  seen 
now ;  there  are  more  roofless  buildings,  more 
house-fronts  gaping  doorless  and  windowless, 
more  walls  with  ragged  rents,  and  tumbled  heaps 
of  brick  lying  under  the  yawning  black  holes. 
But  the  grass  is  still  green,  and  the  trees  thick 
with  fohage,  the  fields  neatly  ploughed  and  tilled 


122  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

and  cultivated,   with   here   and  there   a   staring 
notice  planted  on  the  edge  of  a  field,  where  the 
long,   straight  drills  are  sprinkled  with   budding 
green—'  Crops    sown.     Do   not   walk   here.'    Al- 
together there  is  Httle  sign  of  the  heavy  hand 
of   war    upon  the    country,   and    such   signs    as 
there  are  remain  unobtrusive  and  wrapped  up  in 
springing  verdure  and  bloom  and  blossom.     Even 
the  trapping  of  war,  the  fighting  machine  itself, 
wears  a    hohday  or— at    most— an  Easter-peace- 
manoeuvre    appearance.     A    heavy    battery    has 
its  guns   so  carefully  concealed,   so   bowered  in 
green,  that  it  is  only  the  presence  of  the  lounging 
gunners   and   close,   searching   looks   that   reveal 
&  few  inches  of  muzzle  peering  out  towards  the 
hill  crest  in  front.     Scattered  about  behind  the 
guns,  covered  with  beautiful  green  turf,  shadowed 
by  growing  trees,  are  the  dwelHng-places  of   the 
gunners,  deep  *  dug-outs,"  with  no  visible  sign  of 
their  existence  except  the  square,  black  hole  of 
the  doorway.     Out  in  the  open  a  man  sits  with 
a  pair  of  field-glasses,  sweeping  the  sky.     He  is 
the  aeroplane  look-out,  and  at  the  first  sign  of  a 
distant  speck  in  the  sky  or  the  drone  of  an  engine 
he  blows  shrilly  on  his  whistle ;   every  man  dives 
to  earth  or  under  cover,  and  remains  motionless 


THE  PROMISE  OF  SPRING  123 

until  the  whistle  signals  all  clear  again.  An 
enemy  aeroplane  might  drop  to  within  pistol  shot 
and  search  for  an  hour  without  finding  a  sign  of 
the  battery. 

When  the  regiment  swerves  oS  the  main 
road  and  moves  down  a  winding  side-track  over 
open  fields,  past  tree-encircled  farms,  and  along 
by  thick-leaved  hedges,  it  passes  more  of  these 
Jack-in-the-Green  concealed  batteries.  All  wear 
the  same  look  of  happy  and  indolent  ease.  Near 
one  is  a  stream,  and  the  gunners  are  bathing  in 
an  artificially  made  pool,  plunging  and  splashing 
in  showers  of  ghstening  drops.  They  are  hke  school 
boys  at  a  picnic.  It  seems  utterly  ridiculous  to 
think  that  they  are  grim  fighting  men  whose 
business  in  life  for  months  past  and  for  months 
to  come  is  to  kill  and  kill,  and  to  be  killed 
themselves  if  such  is  the  fortime  of  war.  Another 
battery  of  field  artillery  passes  on  the  road.  But 
even  here,  shorn  of  their  concealing  greenery, 
in  all  the  bare  working-and-ready-for-business 
apparel  of  'marching  order,'  there  is  little  to 
suggest  real  war.  Drivers  and  gunners  are  spruce 
and  neat  and  clean,  the  horses  are  sleek  and  well 
fed  and  groomed  till  their  skins  shine  like  satin 
in  the  sun,  the  harness  is  pohshed  and  speckless. 


124  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

bits  and  stirrup-irons  and  chains  and  all  the 
scraps  of  steel  and  brass  twinkle  and  wink  in 
bright  and  shining  splendour.  The  ropes  oi  the 
traces — ^the  last  touch  of  pride  in  perfection  this, 
surely — are  scrubbed  and  whitened.  The  whole 
battery  is  as  spick  and  span,  as  complete  and 
immaculate,  as  if  it  were  waiting  to  walk  into 
the  arena  at  the  Naval  and  Military  Tournament. 
Such  scrupulous  perfection  on  active  service 
sounds  perhaps  unnecessary  or  even  extravagant. 
But  the  teams,  remember,  have  been  for  weeks 
past  luxuriating  in  comfortable  ease  miles  back 
in  their  '  wagon-line '  billets,  where  the  horses 
have  done  nothing  for  days  on  end  but  feed  and 
grow  fat,  and  the  drivers  nothing  but  clean  up 
and  look  after  their  teams  and  harness.  If  the 
guns  up  in  the  firing  line  had  to  shift  position 
it  has  meant  no  more  to  the  teams  than  a  break 
of  the  monotony  for  a  day  or  two,  a  night  or 
two's  marching,  and  a  return  to  the  rear. 

It  is  afternoon  now,  and  the  regiment  is  drawing 
near  to  the  trenches.  The  slanting  sun  begins 
to  throw  long  shadows  from  the  poplars.  The 
open  fields  are  covered  with  tall  grass  and  hay 
that  moves  in  long,  slow,  undulating  waves 
¥mder  the  gentle  breeze  that  is  rising.    The  sloping 


THE  PROMISE  OF  SPRING  125 

light  falling  on  them  gives  the  waves  an  extra- 
ordinary resemblance  to  the  lazy  swell  on  a 
summer  sea.  Here  and  there  the  fields  are  splashed 
with  broad  bands  of  vivid  colour — the  blazing 
scarlet  of  poppies,  the  glowing  cloth-of-gold  of 
yellow  mustard,  the  rich,  deep,  splendid  blue  of 
oom-flowers. 

For  one  or  two  miles  past  the  track  has  been 
plainly  marked  by  sign-posts  bearing  directions 
to  the  various  trenches  and  their  entrances.  Now, 
at  a  parting  of  the  main  track,  a  group  of  *  guides  ' 
— men  from  the  regiment  being  relieved  from 
the  trenches — wait  the  incoming  regiment.  Com- 
pany by  company,  platoon  by  platoon,  the  regi- 
ment moves  off  to  the  appointed  places,  and  by 
company  and  platoon  the  outcoming  regiment 
gathers  up  its  belongings  and  moves  out.  In 
most  parts  of  the  firing  line  these  changes  would 
only  be  made  after  dark.  But  this  section  bears 
the  reputation  of  being  a  *  peaceful '  one,  the 
Germans  opposite  of  being  '  tame,'  so  the  reliefs 
are  made  in  daytime,  more  or  less  in  safety.  There 
has  been  no  serious  fighting  here  for  months. 
Constant  sniping  and  bickering  between  the 
forward  firing  trenches  has,  of  course,  always 
gone  on,  but  there  has  been  no  attack  one  way 


126  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

or  the  other,  little  shell-fire,  and  few  aeroplanes 
over. 

The  companies  that  *  take  over '   the  support 
trenches  get  varied  instructions  and  advice  about 
tending  the  plants  and  flowers  round  the'  dug- 
outs,   and   watering    the  mustard-and-cress    box. 
They   absorb   the   advice,   strip    their   accoutre- 
ments   and    tunics,    roll    up    their    shirt-sleeves, 
and  open  the  throats,  fish  out  soap  and  towels 
from  their  packs,  and  proceed  to  the  pump  to 
lather  and  wash  copiously.    The  companies  for 
the    forward    trench    march    down    interminable 
communication    trenches,    distribute    themselves 
along  the  parapet,  and  also  absorb  advice  from  the 
outgoing    tenants — advice    of    the    positions     of 
enemy    snipers,    the    hours    when    activity    and 
when  peace  may  be  expected,  the  specially  *  un- 
healthy *   spots  where  a  sniper's  bullet  or  a  bomb 
must  be  watched  for,  the    angles  and   loopholes 
that  give  the   best  look-out.    The   trenches   are 
deep   and   well-made,   the    parapets   sohdly    con- 
structed.   For  four  days  or  six,  or  as  many    as 
the  regiment  remains  '  in,'  the  range  of  the  men's 
vision  will  be  the  wails  of  the  trench,  the  piled 
sandbags,    the   inside    of    their    dug-outs,  and    a 
view  (taken  in  peeps  through  a  loophole  or  reflected 


THE  PROMISE  OF  SPRING  127 

in  a  periscope  mirror)  of  about  fifty  to  a  Imn- 
dred  yards  of  '  neutral  ground '  and  the  German 
parapet  beyond.  The  neutral  ground  is  covered 
with  a  jungle  of  coarse  grass,  edged  on  both  sides 
with  a  tangle  of  barbed  wire. 

Close  to  the  German  parapet  are  a  few  black, 
huddled  heaps — dead  Germans,  shot  down  while 
out  in  a  working  party  on  the  wire  at  night,  and 
left  there  to  rot,  and  some  killed  in  their  own 
trench  and  tumbled  out  over  the  parapet  by 
their  own  comrades.  The  drowsy  silence  k 
broken  at  long  intervals  by  a  rifle  shot ;  a  lark 
pours  out  a  stream  of  joyful  thiiUing  song. 
•  *  •  9  • 

A  mile  or  two  back  from  the  firing  line  a  couple 
of  big  motor-cars  swing  over  the  crest  of  a  gentle 
rise,  swoop  down  into  the  dip,  and  halt  suddenly. 
A  little  group  of  men  with  scarlet  stafi-bands 
on  their  caps  and  tabs  on  their  collars  climb 
out  of  the  cars  and  move  ofi  the  track  into  the 
grass  of  the  hollow.  They  prod  sticks  at  the 
ground,  stamp  on  it,  dig  a  heel  in,  to  test  its  hard- 
ness and  dryness. 

The  General  looks  round.  *  This  is  about 
as  low-lying  a  spot  as  we  have  on  this  part  of 
front,*  he  says  to  his  Chief  of  Stafi.     '  If  it  is  dry 


128  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

enough  here  it  must  be  dry  enough  everyrrhere 
else/ 

The  Chief  assents,  and  for  a  space  the  group 
stands  looking  round  the  sunlit  fields  and  up 
at  the  clear  sky.  But  their  thoughts  are  not 
of  the  beauties  of  the  peaceful  landscape.  The 
words  of  the  General  are  the  key  to  all  their 
thoughts.  For  them  the  promise  of  spring  is  a 
grim  and  a  sinister  thing ;  to  them  the  springy 
green  turf  carpet  on  the  fields  means  ground  fit 
to  bear  the  weight  of  teams  and  guns,  dry  enough 
to  give  fijm  foothold  to  the  ranks  of  infantry 
charging  across  the  death-trap  of  the  neutral 
ground,  where  clogging,  wet,  shppery  mud  adds 
to  the  minutes  under  the  hail  of  fire  and  every 
minute  there  in  the  open  means  hundreds  of 
lives  lost.  The  hard,  dry  road  underfoot  means 
merely  that  roads  are  passable  for  heavy  guns  and 
transport.  The  thick  green  foliage  of  the  trees 
is  so  much  cover  for  guns  and  the  moving  of 
troops  and  transport  under  concealment  from 
air  observation ;  the  clear,  blue  sky  promises 
the  continuance  of  fine  weather,  the  final  release 
from  the  inactivity  of  the  trenches.  To  these 
men  the  *  Promise  of  Spring '  is  the  promise  of 
the  crescendo  of  battle  and  slaughter. 


THE  PROMISE  OF  SPRING  129 

The  General  and  his  StaS  are  standing  in 
the  middle  of  a  wide  patch  of  poppies,  spread 
out  in  a  bright  scarlet  that  matches  exactly  the 
red  splashes  on  the  brows  and  throats  of  the 
group.  They  move  slowly  back  towards  the  cars, 
and  as  they  walk  the  red  ripples  and  swirls  against 
their  boots  and  about  their  knees. 

One  might  imagine  them  wading  knee-deep 
iu  a  river  of  blood. 


THE  ADVANCE 

'  The  attach  has  resulted  in  our  line  being  advanced 
from  one  to  two  hundred  yards  along  a  front  of 
over  one  thousand  yards.' — Official  Despatch. 

Down  to  the  rawest  hand  in  the  latest- joined 
drafts,  everyone  knew  for  a  week  before  the  attack 
commenced  that  '  something  was  on/  and  for 
twenty-four  hours  before  that  the  *  something ' 
was  a  move  of  some  importance,  no  mere  afiair 
of  a  battahon  or  two,  or  even  of  brigades,  but 
of  divisions  and  corps  and  armies.  There  had 
been  vague  stirrings  in  the  regiments  far  behind 
the  firing  hne  *  in  rest,'  refittings  and  completings 
of  kits,  reissuing  of  worn  equipments,  and  a  most 
ominous  anxiety  that  each  man  was  duly  equipped 
with  an  '  identity  disc,'  the  tell-tale  Httle  badge 
that  hangs  always  round  the  neck  of  a  man  on 
active  service  and  that  bears  the  word  of  who  he 
is  when  he  is  brought  in  wounded — who  he  was 
when  brought  in  dead.     The  old  hands  judged 

130 


THE  ADVANCE  131 

all  the  signs  correctly  and  summed  them  up 
in  a  sentence,  *  Being  fattened  for  the  slaughter/ 
and  were  in  no  degree  surprised  when  the  sudden 
order  came  to  move.  Those  farthest  back  moved 
up  the  fix-zt  stages  by  dayhght,  but  when  they 
came  within  reach  of  the  rumbling  guns  they 
were  halted  and  bivouacked  to  wait  for  night 
to  cloak  their  movements  from  the  prying  eyes 
of  the  enemy  ^planes.  The  enemy  might  have^ — 
probably  had — an  inkling  of  the  coming  attack; 
but  they  might  not  know  exactly  the  portion  of 
front  selected  for  the  heaviest  pressure,  and  this 
must  be  kept  secret  till  the  last  possible  moment. 
So  the  final  filing  up  into  the  forward  and  support 
trenches  was  done  by  night,  and  was  so  complete 
by  dayhght  that  no  sign  of  unwonted  movement 
could  be  discerned  from  the  enemy  trenches  and 
observing  stations  when  day  broke. 

It  was  a  beautiful  morning — soft  and  mildly 
warm  and  sunny,  with  just  a  shght  haze  hanging 
low  to  tone  the  growing  hght,  and,  incidentally, 
to  delay  the  opening  of  fire  from  the  guns.  Any- 
one standing  midway  between  the  forward  firing 
trenches  might  have  looked  in  vain  for  hving 
sign  of  the  massed  hordes  waiting  the  word  to 
be  at  each  other^s  throats.     Looking  forward  from 


132  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

behind  the  British  Hnes,  it  could  be  seen  that  the 
trenches  and  parapets  were  packed  with  men  ;  but 
no  man  showed  head  over  parapet,  and,  seen 
from  the  enemy's  side,  the  parapets  presented 
blank,  Hfeless  walls,  the  trenches  gave  no  ghmpse 
of  Hfe.  All  the  bustle  and  movement  of  the  night 
before  was  finished.  At  midnight  every  road  and 
track  leading  to  the  forward  trenches  had  been 
brimming  with  men,  with  regiments  tramping 
slowly  or  squatting  stohdly  by  the  roadside, 
smoking  much  and  talking  Httle,  had  been  crawling 
with  transport,  with  ammunition  carts,  and 
ambulances  and  stretcher-parties,  and  sappers 
heavily  laden  with  sandbags  and  rolls  of  barbed 
wire.  The  trenches — support,  communication,  and 
firing — ^had  trickled  with  creeping  rivulets  of 
khaki  caps  and  been  a-bristle  with  bobbing  rifle- 
barrels.  Further  back  amongst  the  hnes  of  guns 
the  last  loads  of  ammunition  were  rumbhng  up 
to  the  batteries,  the  last  shells  required  to  *  com- 
plete establishment '  —  and  over-complete  it  — 
were  being  stowed  in  safe  proximity  to  the  guns. 
At  midnight  there  were  scores  of  thousands  of 
men  and  animals  busily  at  work  with  prepara- 
tions for  the  slaughter-pen  of  the  morrow.  Before 
midnight  came  again  the  bustle  would  be  renewed. 


THE  ADVANCE  133 

and  the  circling  ripples  of  activity  would  be 
spreading  and  widening  from  the  central  splash 
of  the  battle  front  till  the  last  waves  washed 
back  to  BerUn  and  London,  brimming  the  hospi- 
tals and  swirling  through  the  munition  factories. 
But  now  at  daybreak  the  battle-field  was  steeped 
in  brooding  calm.  Across  the  open  space  of  the 
neutral  ground  a  few  trench  periscopes  peered 
anxiously  for  any  sign  of  movement,  and  saw 
none  ;  the  batteries'  *  forward  observing  officers,' 
tucked  away  in  carefully  chosen  and  hidden  look- 
outs, fidgeted  with  wrist-watches  and  field-glasses, 
and  passed  back  by  telephone  continual  mes- 
sages about  the  strength  of  the  growing  light  and 
the  lifting  haze.  An  aeroplane  droned  high  over- 
head, and  an  'Archibald'  (anti-aircraft  gun) 
or  two  began  to  pattern  the  sky  about  it  with 
a  trail  of  fleecy  white  smoke-pufis.  The  'plane 
sailed  on  and  out  of  sight,  the  smoke-puffs  and 
the  wheezy  barks  of  '  Archibald '  receding  after 
it.  Another  period  of  silence  followed.  It  was 
broken  by  a  faint  report  like  the  sound  of  a  far- 
off  door  being  slammed,  and  almost  at  the  same 
instant  there  came  to  the  ear  the  faint  thin  whistle 
of  an  approaching  shell.  The  whistle  rose  to 
a    rush  and    a   roar  that  cut  off  abruptly  in   a 


134  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

thunderous  bang.  The  shell  pitched  harmlessly  on 
the  open  ground  between  the  forward  and  support 
trenches.  Again  came  that  faint  '  slam,'  this 
time  repeated  by  four,  and  the  '  bouquet '  of 
four  shells  crumped  down  almost  on  top  of  the 
support  line.  The  four  crashes  might  have  been 
a  signal  to  the  British  guns.  About  a  dozen 
reports  thudded  out  quickly  and  separately,  and 
then  in  one  terrific  blast  of  sound  the  whole  line 
broke  out  in  heavy  fire.  The  infantry  in  the 
trenches  could  distinguish  the  quick- following 
bangs  of  the  guns  directly  in  line  behind  them, 
could  separate  the  vicious  swish  and  rush  of 
the  shells  passing  immediately  over  their  heads. 
Apart  from  these,  the  reports  blent  in  one  long 
throbbing  pulse  of  noise,  an  indescribable  medley 
of  moanings,  shrieks,  and  whistling  in  the  air 
rent  by  the  passing  shells.  So  ear-filhng  and 
confused  was  the  clamour  that  the  first  sharp, 
sudden  bursts  of  the  enemy  shells  over  our  trenches 
were  taken  by  the  infantry  for  their  own  artil- 
lery's shells  falling  short ;  but  a  very  few  moments 
proved  plainly  enough  that  the  enemy  were 
replying  vigorously  to  our  fire.  They  had  the 
ranges  well  marked,  too,  and  huge  rents  began 
to    show   in    our    parapets,    strings   of   casualties 


THE  ADVANCE  135 

began  to  trickle  back  to  the  dressing  stations  in 
a  stream  that  was  to  flow  steady  and  unbroken 
for  many  days  and  nights.  But  the  enemy 
defences  showed  more  and  quicker  signs  of  damage, 
especially  at  the  main  points,  where  the  massed 
guns  were  busy  breaching  the  selected  spots. 
Here  the  lighter  guns  were  pouring  a  hurricane 
of  shrapnel  on  the  dense  thickets  of  barbed- wire 
entanglements  piled  in  loose  loops  and  coils, 
strung  in  a  criss-cross  network  between  pegs 
and  stakes  along  the  edge  of  the  neutral  ground ; 
the  howitzers  and  heavies  were  pounding  and 
hammering  at  the  parapets  and  the  communication 
trenches  beyond. 

For  half  an  hour  the  appalling  uproar  con- 
tinued, the  solid  earth  shook  to  the  roar  of  the 
guns  and  the  crashing  of  the  shells.  By  the 
end  of  that  time  both  fronts  to  a  depth  of  hundreds 
•of  yards  were  shrouded  in  a  slow-drifting  haze 
of  smoke  and  dust,  through  which  the  flashes 
of  the  bursting  shell  blazed  in  quick  glares  of  vivid 
light,  and  the  spots  of  their  falhng  were  marked 
by  gushes  of  smoke  and  up  flung  billowing  clouds 
of  thick  dust.  So  far  the  noise  was  only  and  all 
of  guns  and  shell  fire,  but  now  from  far  out  on 
one  of  the  flanks  a  new  note  began  to  weave  itself 


136  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

into  the  uproar — the  sharper  crackle  and  clatter 
of  rifle  and  machine-gun  fire. 

Along  the  Hne  of  front  marked  for  the  main 
assault  the  guns  suddenly  hfted  their  fire  and 
commenced  to  pour  it  down  further  back,  al- 
though a  number  of  the  lighter  guns  continued 
to  sweep  the  front  parapet  with  gusts  of  shrapnel. 
And  then  suddenly  it  could  be  seen  that  the 
front  British  trench  was  aMve  and  astir.  The 
infantry,  who  had  been  crouched  and  prone  in 
the  shelter  of  their  trenches,  rose  suddenly  and 
began  to  clamber  over  the  parapets  into  the 
open  and  make  their  way  out  through  the  maze 
of  their  own  entanglements.  Instantly  the  para- 
pet opposite  began  to  crackle  with  rifle  fire  and 
to  beat  out  a  steady  tattoo  from  the  hammering 
machine-guns.  The  bullets  hissed  and  spat  across 
the  open  and  hailed  upon  the  opposite  parapet. 
Scores,  hundreds  of  men  fell  before  they  could 
clear  the  entanglements  to  form  up  in  the  open, 
dropped  as  they  chmbed  the  parapet,  or  even  as 
they  stood  up  and  raised  a  head  above  it.  But 
the  mass  poured  out,  shook  itself  roughly  into 
line,  and  began  to  run  across  the  open.  They 
ran  for  the  most  part  with  shoulders  hunched 
and  heads  stooped,   as  men  would  run  through 


THE  ADVANCE  137 

a   heavy  rainstorm   to   a   near   shelter      And   as 
they  ran  they  stumbled  and  fell  and  picked  them- 
selves up   and  ran  again — or  crumpled  up   and 
lay  still  or  squirming  feebly.     As  the  Hne  swept 
on  doggedly  it  thinned  and  shredded  into  broken 
groups.     The  men  dropped  under  the  rifle  bullets, 
singly  or  in  twos  and  threes  ;    the  bursting  shells 
tore  great  gaps  in  the  line,  snatching  a  dozen  men 
at  a  mouthful ;   here  and  there,  where  it  ran  into 
the  effective  sweep  of  a  maxim,  the  line  simply 
withered  and  dropped  and  stayed  still  in  a  string 
of   huddled   heaps    amongst    and    on   which   the 
bullets  continued  to  drum  and  thud.     The  open 
ground  was  a  full  hundred  yards  across  at  the 
widest  point  where  the  main  attack  was  delivering. 
Fifty  yards  across,  the  battalion  assaulting  was 
no  longer  a  line,  but  a  scattered  series  of  groups 
hke  beads  on  a  broken  string ;    sixty  yards  across 
and  the  groups  had  dwindled  to  single  men  and 
couples  with  desperately  long  intervals  between ; 
seventy  yards,  and  there  were  no  more  than  odd 
occasional  men,   with  one  httle  bunch  near  the 
centre  that  had   by   some   extraordinary  chance 
escaped  the  sleet  of  bullets ;    at  eighty  yards  a 
sudden   swirl   of   lead   caught   this   last   group' — 
and  the  line  at  last  was  gone,  wiped  out,  the 


138  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

open  was  swept  clear  of  those  dogged  runners. 
The  open  ground  was  dotted  thick  with  men, 
men  lying  prone  and  still,  men  crawling  on  hands 
and  knees,  men  dragging  themselves  slowly  and 
painfully  with  traihng,  useless  legs,  men  limping, 
hobbling,  staggering,  in  a  desperate  endeavour 
to  get  back  to  their  parapet  and  escape  the  bullets 
and  shrapnel  that  still  stormed  down  upon  them. 
The  British  gunners  dropped  their  ranges  again, 
and  a  deluge  of  shells  and  shrapnel  burst  crashing 
and  whistling  upon  the  enemy's  front  parapet. 
The  rifle  fire  slackened  and  almost  died,  and  the 
last  survivors  of  the  charge  had  such  chance  as 
was  left  by  the  enemy's  shells  to  reach  the  shelter 
of  their  trench.  Groups  of  stretcher-bearers  leaped 
out  over  the  parapet  and  ran  to  pick  up  the  woun- 
ded, and  hard  on  their  heels  another  line  of  infantry 
swarmed  out  and  formed  up  for  another  attack. 
As  they  went  forward  at  a  run  the  roar  of  rifles 
and  machine-guns  swelled  again,  and  the  hail 
of  bullets  began  to  sweep  across  to  meet  them. 
Into  the  forward  trench  they  had  vacated,  the 
stream  of  another  battahon  poured,  and  had 
commenced  to  chmb  out  in  their  turn  before 
the  advancing  Hne  was  much  more  than  half- 
way across.     This  time  the  casualties,  although 


THE  ADVANCE  139 

appallingly  heavy,  were  not  so  hopelessly  severe 
as  in  the  first  charge,  probably  because  a  salient 
of  the  enemy  trench  to  a  flank  had  been  reached 
by  a  battaUon  farther  along,  and  the  devas- 
tating enfilading  fire  of  rifles  and  machine-guns 
cut  ofi.  This  time  the  broken  remnants  of  the 
fine  reached  the  barbed  wires,  gathered  in  little 
knots  as  the  individual  men  ran  up  and  down 
along  the  face  of  the  entanglements  looldng  for 
the  lanes  cut  clearest  by  the  sweeping  shrapnel, 
streamed  through  with  men  still  falling  at  every 
step,  reached  the  parapet  and  leaped  over  and 
down.  The  guns  had  held  their  fire  on  the  trench 
till  the  last  possible  moment,  and  now  they  Hfted 
again  and  sought  to  drop  across  the  further  fines 
and  the  communication  trenches  a  shrapel  *  cur- 
tain* through  which  no  reinforcements  could 
pass  and  five.  The  following  battahon  came 
surging  across,  losing  heavily,  but  still  bearing 
weight  enough  to  tell  when  at  last  they  poured 
in  over  the  parapet. 

The  neutral  ground,  the  deadly  open  and 
exposed  space,  was  won.  It  had  been  crossed 
at  other  points,  and  now  it  only  remained 
to  see  if  the  hold  could  be  maintained  and 
strengthened  and  extended. 


140  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

The  fighting  fell  to  a  new  phase — the  work 
of  the  short-arm  bayonet  thrust  and  the  bomb- 
throwers.  In  the  gaps  between  the  points  where 
the  trench  was  taken  the  enemy  fought  with 
the  desperation  of  trapped  rats.  The  trench  had 
to  be  taken  traverse  by  traverse.  The  bombers 
lobbed  their  missiles  over  into  the  traverse  ahead 
of  them  in  showers,  and  immediately  the  explo- 
sions crashed  out,  swung  round  the  corner  with 
a  rush  to  be  met  in  turn  with  bullets  or  bursting 
bombs.  Sometimes  a  space  of  two  or  three 
traverses  was  blasted  bare  of  life  and  rendered 
untenable  for  long  minutes  on  end  by  a  constant 
succession  of  grenades  and  bombs.  In  places, 
the  men  of  one  side  or  the  other  leaped  up  out 
of  the  trench,  risking  the  bullets  that  sleeted 
across  the  level  ground,  and  emptied  a  clip  of 
cartridges  or  hurled  half  a  dozen  grenades  down 
into  the  trench  further  along.  But  for  the  most 
part  the  fight  raged  below  ground-level,  at  times 
even  below  the  level  of  the  trench  floor,  where 
a  handful  of  men  held  out  in  a  deep  dug-out. 
If  the  entrance  could  be  reached,  a  few  bombs 
speedily  settled  the  affair ;  but  where  the  de- 
fenders had  hastily  blocked  themselves  in  with 
a  barricade  of  sandbags  or  planks,  so  that  grenades 


THE  ADVANCE  141 

could  not  be  pitched  in,  there  was  nothing  left 
to  do  but  crowd  in  against  the  rifle  muzzles  that 
poked  out  and  spurted  bullets  from  the  openings, 
tear  down  the  defences,  and  so  come  at  the  de- 
fenders. And  all  the  time  the  captured  treach 
was  pelted  by  shells — high-explosive  and  shrapnel. 
At  the  entrances  of  the  communication  trenches 
that  led  back  to  the  support  trenches  the  fiercest 
fighting  raged  continually,  with  men  strugghng 
to  block  the  path  with  sandbags  and  others 
striving  to  tear  them  down,  while  on  both  sides 
their  fellows  fought  over  them  with  bayonet 
and  butt.  In  more  than  one  such  place  the  bar- 
ricade was  at  last  built  by  the  heap  of  the  dead 
who  had  fought  for  possession;  in  others,  crude 
barriers  of  earth  and  sandbags  were  pDed  up 
and  fought  across  and  pulled  down  and  built  up 
again  a  dozen  times. 

In  the  middle  of  the  ferocious  individual 
hand-to-hand  fighting  a  counter-attack  was 
launched  against  the  captured  trench.  A  swarm 
of  the  enemy  leaped  from  the  next  trench  and 
rushed  across  the  twenty  or  thirty  yards  of  open 
to  the  captured  front  line.  But  the  counter- 
attack had  been  expected.  The  guns  caught  the 
attackers  as  they  left  their  trench  and  beat  them 


142  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

down  in  scores.  A  line  of  riflemen  had  been  in- 
stalled under  cover  of  what  had  been  the  parapet 
of  the  enemy  front  trench,  and  this  Kne  broke 
out  in  '  the  mad  minute  '  of  rifle  fire.  The  shrap- 
nel and  the  rifles  between  them  smashed  the 
counter-attack  before  it  had  well  formed.  It 
was  cut  down  in  swathes  and  had  totally  col- 
lapsed before  it  reached  half-way  to  the  captured 
trench.  But  another  was  hurled  forward  in- 
stantly, was  up  out  of  the  trench  and  streaming 
across  the  open  before  the  infantry  had  finished 
re-charging  their  magazines.  Then  the  rifles 
spoke  again  in  rolling  crashes,  the  screaming 
shrapnel  pounced  again  on  the  trench  that  still 
erupted  hurrying  men,  while  from  the  captured 
trench  itself  came  hurthng  bombs  and  grenades. 
Smoke  and  dust  leaped  and  swirled  in  dense 
clouds  about  the  trenches  and  the  open  between 
them,  but  through  the  haze  the  ragged  front 
fringe  of  the  attack  loomed  suddenly  and  pressed 
on  to  the  very  lip  of  the  trench.  Beyond  that 
point  it  appeared  it  could  not  pass.  The  British 
infantry,  cramming  full  cartridge-clips  into  their 
magazines,  poured  a  fresh  cataract  of  lead  across 
the  broken  parapet  into  the  charging  ranks, 
and  the  ranks  shivered  and  stopped  and  melted 


THE  ADVANCE  143 

away  beneath  the  fire,  while  the  remnants  broke 
and  fled  back  to  cover.  With  a  yell  the  defen- 
ders of  a  moment  before  became  the  attackers. 
They  leaped  the  trench  and  fell  with  the  bayonet 
on  the  flying  survivors  of  the  counter-attack. 
For  the  most  part  these  were  killed  as  they 
fled ;  but  here  and  there  groups  of  them  turned 
at  bay,  and  in  a  dozen  places  as  many  fights 
raged  bitterly  for  a  few  minutes,  while  the  fresh 
attack  pushed  on  to  the  next  trench.  A  withering 
fixe  poured  from  it  but  could  not  stop  the  rush 
that  fought  its  way  on  and  into  the  second-line 
trench.  From  now  the  front  lost  connection  or 
cohesion.  Here  and  there  the  attackers  broke  in 
on  the  second  line,  exterminated  that  portion  of 
the  defence  in  its  path  or  was  itself  exterminated 
there.  Where  it  won  footing  it  spread  raging 
to  either  side  along  the  trench,  shooting,  stabbing, 
flinging  hand  grenades  and  bearing  down  the 
defenders  by  the  sheer  fury  of  the  attack.  The 
movement  spread  along  the  line,  and  with  a 
sudden  leap  and  rush  the  second  line  was  gained 
along  a  front  of  nearly  a  mile.  In  parts  this 
attack  overshot  its  mark,  broke  through  and 
over  the  second  line  and,  tearing  and  hacking 
through  a  network  of  wire,  into  the  third  trench. 


144  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

In  part  the  second  line  still  held  out ;  and  even 
after  it  was  all  completely  taken,  the  communi- 
cation trenches  between  the  first  and  second 
line  were  filled  with  combatants  who  fought  on 
furiously,  heedless  of  whether  friend  or  foe  held 
trench  to  front  or  rear,  intent  only  on  the  busi- 
ness at  their  own  bayonet  points,  to  kill  the 
enemy  facing  them  and  push  in  and  kill  the  ones 
behind.  Fresh  supports  pressed  into  the  cap- 
tured positions,  and,  backed  by  their  weight, 
the  attack  surged  on  again  in  a  fresh  spasm  of 
fury.  It  secured  foothold  in  great  sections  of 
the  third  line,  and  even,  without  waiting  to  see 
the  whole  of  it  made  good,  attempted  to  rush 
the  fourth  line.  At  one  or  two  points  the  gallant 
attempt  succeeded,  and  a  handful  of  men  hung 
on  desperately  for  some  hours,  their  further 
advance  impossible,  their  retreat,  had  they  at- 
tempted it,  almost  equally  so,  cut  ofi  from  rein- 
forcements, short  of  ammunition,  and  entirely 
without  bombs  or  grenades.  When  their  ammu- 
nition was  expended  they  used  rifles  and  cart- 
ridges taken  from  the  enemy  dead  in  the  trench; 
having  no  grenades  they  snatched  and  hurled 
back  on  the  instant  any  that  fell  with  fuses  still 
burning.    They    waged    their    unequal    fight    to 


THE  ADVANCE  145 

the  last  minute  and  were  killed  out  to  the  last 
man. 

The  third  Hne  was  not  completely  held  or 
even  taken.  One  or  two  loopholed  and  machine- 
gunned  dug-out  redoubts,  or  *  keeps/  held  out 
strenuously,  and  before  they  could  be  reduced 
— entrance  being  gained  at  last  Hterally  by  tearing 
the  place  down  sandbag  by  sandbag  till  a  hole 
was  made  and  grenade  after  grenade  flung  in 
— other  parts  of  the  trench  had  been  recaptured. 
The  weak  point  that  so  often  hampers  attack 
was  making  itself  felt.  The  bombers  and 
*  grenadiers '  had  exhausted  the  stock  they  carried ; 
fresh  suppHes  were  scanty,  were  brought  up 
with  difficulty,  and  distributed  to  the  most 
urgently  required  places  with  stiU  greater 
difficulty.  The  ammunition  carriers  had  to 
cross  the  open  of  the  old  neutral  ground,  the 
battered  first  trench,  pass  along  communication 
trenches  choked  with  dead  and  wounded,  or  again 
cross  the  open  to  the  second  and  third  line.  All 
the  time  they  were  dnder  the  fire  of  high-explosive 
shells  and  had  to  pass  through  a  zone  or  *  bar- 
rage '  of  shrapnel  built  across  their  path  for  just 
this  special  purpose  of  destroying  supports  and 
Bupphes.     Our  own  artillery  were  playing  exactly 


146  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

the  same  game  behind  the  enemy  Hnes,  but  in 
these  hnes  were  ample  stores  of  cartridges  and 
grenades,  bombs,  and  trench-mortars.  The  third 
and  fourth  hnes  were  within  easy  bomb-  and 
grenade-throwing  distance,  and  were  connected 
by  numerous  passage-ways.  On  this  front  the 
contest  became  a  bombing  duel,  and  because 
the  British  were  woefully  short  of  bombs  and  the 
enemy  could  throw  five  to  their  one,  they  were 
once  again  '  bombed  out '  and  forced  to  retire. 
But  by  now  the  second  trench  had  been  put  in 
some  state  of  defence  towards  its  new  front,  and 
here  the  British  hne  stayed  fast  and  set  its  teeth 
and  doggedly  endured  the  torment  of  the  bombs 
and  the  destruction  of  the  pounding  shells.  With- 
out rest  or  respite  they  endured  till  night,  and 
on  through  the  night,  under  the  glare  of  flares 
and  the  long-drawn  punishment  of  the  shell  fire, 
until  the  following  day  brought  with  the  dawn 
fresh  supports  for  a  renewal  of  the  struggle. 
The  battered  fragments  of  the  first  attacking 
battahons  were  withdrawn,  often  with  corporals 
for  company  leaders,  and  fieutenants  or  captains 
commanding  battahons  whose  full  remaining 
strength  would  hardly  make  a  company.  The 
battle  might  only  have  been  well  begun,  but  at 


THE  ADVANCE  147 

least,  thanks  to  them  and  to  those  scattered 
heaps  lying  among  the  grass,  spread  in  clumps 
and  circles  about  the  yawning  shell-holes,  buried 
beneath  the  broken  parapets  and  in  the  smashed 
trenches — to  them,  and  those,  and  these  others 
passing  out  with  haggard,  pain-lined  faces, 
shattered  limbs,  and  torn  bodies  on  the  red, 
wet  stretchers  to  the  dressing  stations,  at  least, 
the  battle  was  well  begun.  The  sappers  were 
hard  at  work  in  the  darkness  consolidating  the 
captured  positions,  and  these  would  surely  now 
be  held  firm.  Whatever  was  to  follow,  these 
first  regiments  had  done  their  share. 

Two  fines  of  trenches  were  taken ;  the  line 
was  advanced — advanced,  it  is  true,  a  bare  one 
or  two  hundred  yards,  but  with  lives  poured  out 
like  water  over  each  foot  of  the  advance,  with 
every  inch  of  the  ground  gained  marking  a  well- 
spring  and  fountain-head  of  a  river  of  pain,  of  a 
sufiering  beyond  all  words,  of  a  glory  above  and 
beyond  all  sufiering. 


A  CONVERT  TO  CONSCRIPTION 

"...  have  maintained  and  consolidated  our 
'position  in  the  captured  trench.'' — Extract  from 
Official  Despatch. 

Number  nine-two-ought-tkree-six,  Sapper  Duffy, 
J.,  *  A'  Section,  Southland  Company,  Royal  Engi- 
neers, had  been  before  the  War  plain  Jem  Duffy, 
labourer,  and  as  such  had  been  an  ardent  anti- 
mihtarist,  anti-conscriptionist,  and  anti-everything 
else  his  labour  leaders  and  agitators  told  him. 
His  anti-mihtarist  behefs  were  sunk  soon  after 
the  beginning  of  the  War,  and  there  is  almost 
a  complete  story  itself  in  the  tale  of  their  sinking, 
weighted  first  by  a  girl,  who  looked  ahead  no 
further  than  the  pleasure  of  walking  out  with 
a  khaki  uniform,  and  finally  plunged  into  the 
deeps  of  the  Army  by  the  gibe  of  a  stauncher 
anti-mihtarist  during  a  heated  argument  that, 
*  if  he  beheved  now  in  fighting,  why  didn't  he 
go'n  fight  himself  ?  '    But  even  after  his  enlist- 

148 


A  CONVERT  TO  CONSCRIPTION      149 

ment  he  remained  true  to  his  behefs  in  voluntary 
service,  and  the  account  of  his  conversion  to 
the  principles  of  Conscription — no  half-and-half 
measures  of  *  mihtary  training '  or  rifle  clubs  or 
hybrid  arrangements  of  that  sort,  but  out-and-out 
Conscription — may  be  more  interesting,  as  it 
certainly  is  more  typical,  of  the  conversion  of 
more  thousands  of  members  of  the  Serving  Forces 
than  will  ever  be  known — ^until  those  same 
thousands  return  to  their  civilian  lives  and  the 
holding  of  their  civiHan  votes. 

•  •  •  •  • 

By  nightfall  the  captured  trench — well,  it  was 
only  a  courtesy  title  to  call  it  a  trench.  Pre- 
vious to  the  assault,  the  British  guns  had  knocked 
it  about  a  good  deal,  bombs  and  grenades  had 
helped  further  to  disrupt  it  in  the  attacks  and 
counter-attacks  during  the  day,  and  finally,  after 
it  was  captured  and  held,  the  enemy  had  shelled 
and  high-explosived  it  out  of  any  likeness  to  a 
real  trench.  But  the  infantry  had  clung  through- 
out the  day  to  the  ruins,  had  beaten  ofi  several 
strong  counter-attacks,  and  in  the  intervals  had 
done  what  they  could  to  dig  themselves  more 
securely  in  and  re-pile  some  heaps  of  sandbags 
from  the  shattered  parapet  on  the  trench's  new 


150  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

front.  The  casualties  had  been  heavy,  and  since 
there  was  no  passage  from  the  front  British 
trench  to  the  captured  portion  of  the  German 
except  across  the  open  of  the  *  neutral '  ground, 
most  of  the  wounded  and  all  the  killed  had  had 
to  remain  under  such  cover  as  could  be  found 
in  the  wrecked  trench.  The  position  of  the  un- 
wounded  was  bad  enough  and  unpleasant  enough, 
but  it  was  a  great  deal  worse  for  the  wounded. 
A  bad  wound  damages  mentally  as  well  as  phy- 
sically. The  '  casualty  *  is  out  of  the  fight,  has 
had  a  first  field  dressing  placed  on  his  wound, 
has  been  set  on  one  side  to  be  removed  at  the 
first  opportunity  to  the  dressing  station  and 
the  rear.  He  can  do  nothing  more  to  protect 
himself  or  take  such  cover  as  offers.  He  is  in 
the  hands  of  the  stretcher-bearers  and  must 
submit  to  be  moved  when  and  where  they  think 
fit.  And  in  this  case  the  casualties  did  not  even 
have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  every 
minute  that  passed  meant  a  minute  farther 
from  the  danger  zone,  a  minute  nearer  to  safety 
and  to  the  doctors,  and  the  hospitals'  hope 
of  healing.  Here  they  had  to  He  throughout 
the  long  day,  hearing  the  shriek  of  each  ap- 
proaching   shell,    waiting    for    the    crash    of   its 


A  CONVERT  TO  CONSCRIPTION       151 

fall,  wondering  each  time  if  this  one,  the  rush 
of  its  approach  rising  louder  and  louder  to  an 
appaUing  screech,  was  going  to  be  the  finish — a 

*  direct  hit/  Many  of  the  wounded  were  wounded 
again,  or  killed  as  they  lay;  and  from  others  the 
strength  and  the  hfe  had  drained  slowly  out 
before  nightfall.  But  now  that  darkness  had 
come  the  casualties  moved  out  and  the  supports 
moved  in.  From  what  had  been  the  German 
second  trench,  and  on  this  portion  of  front  was 
now  their  forward  one,  lights  were  continually 
going  up  and  bursts  of  rifle  and  machine-gun  fire 
were  coming  ;  and  an  occasional  shell  still  whooped 
up  and  burst  over  or  behind  the  captured  trench. 
This  meant  that  the  men — supports,  and  food 
and  water  carriers,  and  stretcher-bearers — ^were 
under  a  dangerous  fire  even  at  night  in  crossing 
the  old  *  neutral '  ground,  and  it  meant  that  one 
of  the  first  jobs  absolutely  necessary  to  the  holding 
of  the  captured  trench  was  the  making  of  a  con- 
necting path  more  or  less  safe  for  moving  men, 
ammunition,  and  food  by  night  or  day. 

This,  then,  was  the  position  of  affairs  when 

*  A '  section  of  the  Southland  Company  of  Engineers 
came  up  to  take  a  hand,  and  this  communica- 
tion trench  was  the  task  that  Sapper  Duffy,  J., 


152  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

found  himself  set  to  work  on.  Personally  Sapper 
Dufiy  knew  nothing  of,  and  cared  less  for,  the 
tactical  situation.  All  he  knew  or  cared  about 
was  that  he  had  done  a  longish  march  up  from 
the  rear  the  night  before,  that  he  had  put  in  a 
hard  day's  work  carrying  up  bales  of  sandbags 
and  rolls  of  barbed  wire  from  the  carts  to  the 
trenches,  and  that  here  before  him  was  another 
night's  hard  labour,  to  say  nothing  of  the  pros- 
pect of  being  drilled  by  a  rifle  bullet  or  mangled 
by  a  shell.  All  the  information  given  him  and 
his  section  by  their  section  officer  was  that  they 
were  to  dig  a  communication  trench,  that  it 
must  be  completed  before  morning,  that  as  long 
as  they  were  above-ground  they  would  probably 
be  under  a  nasty  fire,  and  that  therefore  the  sooner 
they  dug  themselves  down  under  cover  the  better 
it  would  be  for  the  job  and  for  all  concerned. 
*  A '  section  removed  its  equipment  and  timics 
and  moved  out  on  to  the  *  neutral '  ground  in  its 
shirt-sleeves,  shivering  at  first  in  the  raw  cold 
and  at  the  touch  of  the  drizzling  rain,  but  knowing 
that  the  work  would  very  soon  warm  them  beyond 
need  of  hampering  clothes.  In  the  ordinary 
course,  digging  a  trench  under  fire  is  done  more 
or  less  under  cover  by  sapping — digging  the  first 


A  CONVERT  TO  CONSCRIPTION      153 

part  in  a  covered  spot,  standing  in  the  deep 
hole,  cutting  down  the  *  face '  and  gradually 
burrowing  a  way  across  the  danger  zone.  The 
advantage  of  this  method  is  that  the  workers 
keep  digging  their  way  forward  while  all  the  time 
they  are  below  ground  and  in  the  safety  of  the 
sap  they  dig.  The  disadvantage  is  that  the  narrow 
trench  only  allows  one  or  two  men  to  get  at  its  end 
or  '  face '  to  dig,  and  the  work  consequently 
takes  time.  Here  it  was  urgent  that  the  work 
be  completed  that  night,  because  it  was  very 
certain  that  as  soon  as  its  whereabouts  was  dis- 
closed by  daylight  it  would  be  subjected  to  a  fire 
too  severe  to  allow  any  party  to  work,  even  if 
the  necessary  passage  of  men  to  and  fro  would 
leave  any  room  for  a  working  party.  The  digging 
therefore  had  to  be  done  down  from  the  surface, 
and  the  diggers,  until  they  had  sunk  themselves 
into  safety,  had  to  stand  and  work  fully  exposed 
to  the  bullets  that  whined  and  hissed  across 
from  the  enemy  trenches. 

A  zigzag  line  had  been  laid  down  to  mark 
the  track  of  the  trench,  and  Sapper  Duffy  was 
placed  by  his  sergeant  on  this  line  and  told  briefly 
to  *  get  on  with  it.'  Sapper  Duffy  spat  on  his 
hands,    placed    his    spade    on    the    exact    spot 


154  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

indicated,  drove  it  down,  and  began  to  dig  at  a  rate 
that  was  apparently  leisurely  but  actually  was 
methodical  and  nicely  calculated  to  a  speed  that 
could  be  long  and  unbrokenly  sustained.  During 
the  first  minute  many  bullets  whistled  and  sang 
past,  and  Sapper  Duffy  took  no  notice.  A  couple 
went  *  whutt '  past  his  ear,  and  he  swore  and 
slightly  increased  his  working  speed.  When  a 
bullet  whistles  or  sings  past,  it  is  a  comfortable 
distance  clear  ;  when  it  goes  *  hiss  '  or  *  swish,' 
it  is  too  close  for  safety  ;  and  when  it  says  '  whutt ' 
very  sharply  and  viciously,  it  is  merely  a  matter 
of  being  a  few  inches  out  either  way.  Sapper 
Duffy  had  learned  all  this  by  full  experience, 
and  now  the  number  of  *  whutts '  he  heard  gave 
him  a  very  clear  understanding  of  the  dangers 
of  this  particular  job.  He  was  the  farthest  out 
man  of  the  line.  On  his  left  hand  he  could  just 
distinguish  the  dim  figure  of  another  digger, 
stooping  and  straightening,  stooping  and  straight- 
ening, with  the  rhythm  and  regularity  of  a  machine. 
On  his  right  hand  was  empty  darkness,  lit  up 
every  now  and  then  by  the  glow  of  a  flare-light 
showing  indistinctly  through  the  drizzling  rain. 
Out  of  the  darkness,  or  looming  big  against  the 
misty    light,    figures    came    and    went    stumbling 


A  CONVERT  TO  CONSCRIPTION       155 

and  slipping  in  the  mud — stretcher-bearers  carrying 
or  supporting  the  wounded,  a  ration  party  stag- 
gering under  boxes  balanced  on  shoulders,  a 
strung-out  line  of  supports  stooped  and  trying  to 
move  quietly,  men  in  double  files  linked  together 
by  swinging  ammunition  boxes.  All  these  things 
Sapper  Dufiy  saw  out  of  the  tail  of  his  eye,  and 
without  stopping  or  slacking  the  pace  of  his  dig- 
ging. He  fell  unconsciously  to  timing  his  move- 
ments to  those  of  the  other  man,  and  for  a  time 
the  machine  became  a  twin-engine  working  beat 
for  beat — thrust,  stoop,  straighten,  heave  ;  thrust, 
stoop,  straighten,  heave.  Then  a  bullet  said  the 
indescribable  word  that  means  *  hit '  and  Duffy 
found  that  the  other  half  of  the  machine  had 
stopped  suddenly  and  collapsed  in  a  little  heap. 
Somewhere  along  the  line  a  voice  called  softly 
*  Stretcher-bearers,'  and  almost  on  the  word  two 
men  and  a  stretcher  materialised  out  of  the  dark- 
ness and  a  third  was  stooping  over  the  broken 
machine.  *  He's  gone,'  said  the  third  man  after 
a  pause.  *  Lift  him  clear.'  The  two  men  dropped 
the  stretcher,  stooped  and  fumbled,  Ufted  the 
limp  figure,  laid  it  down  a  few  yards  away  from 
the  line,  and  vanished  in  the  direction  of  another 
call.    Sapper    Duffy    was    alone    with    his    spade 


156  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

and  a  foot-deep  square  hole — and  the  hissing 
bullets.  The  thoughts  of  the  dead  man  so  close 
beside  him  disturbed  him  vaguely,  although  he 
had  never  given  a  thought  to  the  scores  of  dead 
he  had  seen  behind  the  trench  and  that  he  knew 
were  scattered  thick  over  the  *  neutral '  ground 
where  they  had  fallen  in  the  first  charge.  But 
this  man  had  been  one  of  his  own  company  and 
his  own  section — it  was  different  about  him  some- 
how. Yet  of  course  Sapper  Duffy  knew  that  the 
dead  must  at  times  lie  where  they  fall,  because 
the  living  must  always  come  before  the  dead, 
especially  while  there  are  many  more  wounded 
than  there  are  stretchers  or  stretcher-bearers. 
But  all  the  same  he  didn't  like  poor  old  'Jigger' 
Adams  being  left  there — didn't  see  how  he  could 
go  home  and  face  old  '  Jigger's '  missus  and  tell 
her  he'd  come  away  and  left  *  Jigger '  lying 
in  the  mud  of  a  mangel-wurzel  field.  Blest  if  he 
wouldn't  have  a  try  when  they  were  going  to 
give  Jigger  a  lift  back.  A  Hne  of  men,  shirt- 
sleeved  like  himself  and  carrying  spades  in  their 
hands,  moved  out  past  him.  An  officer  led  them, 
and  another  with  Sapper  Duffy's  section  officer 
brought  up  the  rear,  and  passed  along  the  word 
to   halt   when    he   reached    Duffy.    ^Here's   the 


A  CONVERT  TO  CONSCRIPTION      157 

outside  man  of  my  lot,'  he  said,  'so  you'll  join 
on  beyond  him.  You've  just  come  in,  I  hear, 
so  I  suppose  your  men  are  fresh  ?  ' 

*  Fresh  ! '  said  the  other  disgustedly.  *  Not 
much.  They've  been  digging  trenches  all  day 
about  four  miles  back.  It's  too  sickening.  Pity 
we  don't  do  hke  the  Boches — conscript  all  the 
able-bodied  civihans  and  make  'em  do  all  this 
trench-digging  in  rear.  Then  we  might  be  fresh 
for  the  firing  Hne.' 

*  Tut,  tut — mustn't  talk  about  conscripting 
'em,'  said  Duffy's  officer  reprovingly.  *  One 
volunteer,  y'know  ■ —  worth  ten  pressed  men.' 

*  Yes,'  said  the  other,  *  but  when  there  isn't 
enough  of  the  "  one  volunteer  "  it's  about  time 
to  collar  the  ten  pressed.' 

Two  or  three  flares  went  up  almost  simul- 
taneously from  the  enemy's  Hne,  the  crackle  of 
fire  rose  to  a  brisk  fusillade,  and  through  it  ran 
the  sharp  *  rat-at-at-at '  of  a  machine-gun.  The 
rising  sound  of  the  reports  told  plainly  of  the 
swinging  muzzle,  and  officers  and  men  dropped 
flat  in  the  mud  and  waited  tiU  the  sweeping  bullets 
had  passed  over  their  heads.  Men  may  work 
on  and  *  chance  it '  against  rifle  fire  alone,  but 
the  sweep  of   a  machine-gun  is    beyond  chance. 


158  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

and  very  near  to  the  certainty  of  sudden  death 
to  all  in  the  circle  of  its  swing. 

The  officers  passed  on  and  the  new  men  began 
to  dig.  Sapper  Dufiy  also  resumed  work,  and  as 
he  did  so  he  noticed  there  was  something  famihar 
about  the  bulky  shape  of  the  new  digger  next 
to  him. 

*  What  lot  are  you  ?  *  asked  the  new  man,  heav- 
ing out  the  first  spadeful  rapidly  and  dexterously. 

'  We're  *A'  Section,  Southland  Company,*  said 
Dufiy,    *  an*    I   say^ — ain't   you    Beefy   Wilson  ?  ' 

'  That's  me,'  said  the  other  without  checking 
his  spade.  '  And  blow  me  !  you  must  be  Dufiy — 
Jem  Duffy.' 

'That's  right,'  said  Dufiy.  'But  I  didn't 
know  you'd  joined.  Beefy.' 

*  Just  a  week  or  two  after  you,'  said  Beefy. 

*  Didjer  know  boss's  two  sons  had  got  com- 
missions ?  Joined  the  Sappers  an'  tried  to  raise 
a  company  out  o'  the  works  to  join.  Couldn't 
though.     I  was  the  only  one.' 

*  Look  out — 'ere's  that  blanky  maxim  again,' 
said  Dufiy,  and  they  dropped  flat  very  hurriedly. 

There  was  no  more  conversation  at  the  moment. 
There  were  too  many  bullets  about  to  encourage 
any  hneerine  there,   and  both  men  wanted  all 


A  CONVERT  TO  CONSCRIPTION       159 

their  breath  for  their  work.  It  was  hard  work 
too.  Duffy's  back  and  shoulder  and  arm  muscles 
began  to  ache  dully,  but  he  stuck  doggedly  to 
it.  He  even  made  an  attempt  to  speed  up  to 
Beefy "s  rate  of  shovelhng,  although  he  knew 
by  old  experience  alongside  Beefy  that  he  could 
never  keep  up  with  him,  the  unchallenged 
champion  of  the  old  gang. 

Whether  it  was  that  the  hfting  rain  had  made 
them  more  visible  or  that  the  sound  of  their 
digging  had  been  heard  they  never  knew,  but  the 
rifle  fire  for  some  reason  became  faster  and  closer, 
and  again  and  again  the  call  passed  for  stretcher- 
bearers,  and  a  constant  stream  of  wounded  began 
to  trickle  back  from  the  trench-diggers.  Dufiy's 
section  was  not  so  badly  ofi  now  because  they  had 
sunk  themselves  hip  deep,  and  the  earth  they 
threw  out  in  a  parapet  gave  extra  protection. 
But  it  was  harder  work  for  them  now  because 
they  stood  in  soft  mud  and  water  well  above  the 
ankles.  The  new  company,  being  the  more 
exposed,  sufiered  more  from  the  fire;  but  each 
man  of  them  had  a  smaller  portion  of  trench  to 
dig,  so  they  were  catching  up  on  the  first  workers. 
But  all  spaded  furiously  and  in  haste  to  be  done 
with   the   job,   while   the   officers   and   sergeants 


160  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

moved  up  and  down  the  line  and  watched  th« 
progress  made. 

More  cold-bloodedly  unpleasant  work  it  would 
be  hard  to  imagine.    The  men  had  none  of  the 
thrill  and  heat  of  combat  to  help  them ;    they 
had  not  the  hope  that  a  man  has  in  a  charge 
across  the  open — that  a  minute  or  two  gets  the 
worst  of  it  over ;    they  had  not  even  the  chance 
the   fighting   man   has   where   at  least   his   hand 
may  save  his  head.    Their  business  was  to  stand 
in  the  one  spot,  open  and  unprotected,  and  without 
hope  of  cover  or  protection  for  a  good  hour  or 
more  on  end.    They  must  pay  no  heed  to  the 
singing  bullets,  to  the  crash  of  a  bursting  shell, 
to  the  rising  and  falling  glow  of  the  flares.    Simply 
they  must  give  body  and  mind  to  the  job  in  hand, 
and   dig   and   dig   and   keep   on   digging.    There 
had  been  many  brave  deeds  done  by  the  fighting 
men  on  that  day :    there  had  been  bold  leading 
and  bold  following  in  the  first  rush  across  the 
open  against  a  tornado  of  fire ;    there  had  been 
forlorn-hope   dashes   for   ammunition   or   to   pick 
up  wounded  ;  there  had  been  dogged  and  desperate 
courage  in  clinging  all  day  to  the  battered  trench 
under  an  earth-shaking  tempest  of  high-explosive 
shells,   bombs,   and  bulletfl.    But  it  is  doubtful 


A  CONVERT  TO  CONSCRIPTION       161 

if  the  day  or  tlie  night  had  seen  more  nerve-trying, 
courage-testing  work,  more  deliberate  and  long- 
drawn  bravery  than  was  shown,  as  a  matter  of 
course  and  as  a  part  of  the  job,  in  the  digging 
of  that  communication  trench. 

It  was  done  at  last,  and  although  it  might 
not  be  a  Class  One  Exhibition  bit  of  work,  it 
was,  as  Beefy  Wilson  remarked,  *  a  deal  better'n 
none/  And  although  the  trench  was  already 
a  foot  deep  in  water.  Beefy  stated  no  more  than 
bald  truth  in  saying,  '  Come  to-morrow  there's 
plenty  will  put  up  glad  wi'  their  knees  bein'  below 
high-water  mark  for  the  sake  o'  havin'  their 
heads  below  low  bullet-mark.' 

But,  if  the  trench  was  finished,  the  night's  work 
for  the  Engineers  was  not.  They  were  moved  up 
into  the  captured  trench,  and  told  that  they  had 
to  repair  it  and  wire  out  in  front  of  it  before  they 
were  done. 

They  had  half  an  hour's  rest  before  recom- 
mencing work,  and  Beefy  Wilson  and  Jem  Duffy 
hugged  the  shelter  of  some  tumbled  sandbags, 
lit  their  pipes  and  turned  the  bowls  down,  and 
exchanged  reminiscences. 

'Let's  see,'  said  Beefy.  *  Isn't  Jigger  Adams 
in  your  lot  ?  ' 


162  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

*  Was/  corrected  Jem,  *  till  an  hour  ago.  *E's 
out  yon  wi'  a  bullet  in  'im — stiff  by  now.' 

Beefy  breathed  blasphemous  regrets.  *  Rough 
on  *is  missus  an'  the  kids.  Six  of  'em,  weren't 
it?' 

*  Aw,*  assented  Jem.  *  But  she'll  get  suthin' 
from  the  Society  funds.' 

'  Not  a  ha'porth,'  said  Beefy.  *  You'll  remem — 
no,  it  was  just  arter  you  left.  The  trades  unions 
decided  no  benefits  would  be  paid  out  for  them 
as  'listed.  It  was  Bob  Shrillie  engineered  that. 
*E  was  Secretary  an'  Treasurer  an'  things  o' 
other  societies  as  well  as  ours.  'E  fought  the 
War  right  along,  an'  'e's  still  fightin'  it,  'E's  a 
anti-militant,  'e  ses.' 

'  Anti-miHtarist,'  Jem  corrected.  He  had  taken 
some  pains  himself  in  the  old  days  to  get  the  word 
itself  and  some  of  its  meaning  right. 

*  Anti-military-ist  then,'  said  Beefy.  *  Any'ow, 
'e  stuck  out  agin  all  sorts  o'  soldierin'.  This 
stoppin'  the  Society  benefits  was  a  trump  card 
too.  It  blocked  a  whole  crowd  from  listin'  that 
I  know  myself  would  ha'  joined.  Queered  the 
boss's  sons  raisin'  that  Company  too.  They 
'ad  Frickers  an'  the  B.S.L.  Co.  an'  the  works 
to  draw  from.    Could  ha'  raised  a  couple  hundred 


A  CONVERT  TO  CONSCRIPTION       163 

easy  if  Bob  Slirillie  'ada't  got  at  'em.  You 
know  'ow  'e  talks  the  fellers  round.' 

*  I  know/  agreed  Jem,  sucking  hard  at  his 
pipe. 

The  Sergeant  broke  in  on  their  talk.  *  Now 
then/  he  said  briskly.  '  Sooner  we  start,  sooner 
we're  done  an'  ofE  'ome  to  our  downy  couch. 
'Ere,  Dufiy ' — and  he  pointed  out  the  work  Duffy 
was  to  start. 

For  a  good  two  hours  the  Engineers  laboured 
hke  slaves  again.  The  trench  was  so  badly  wrecked 
that  it  practically  had  to  be  reconstructed.  It 
was  dangerous  work  because  it  meant  moving 
freely  up  and  down,  both  where  cover  was  and  was 
not.  It  was  physically  heavy  work  because  spade 
work  in  wet  ground  must  always  be  that ;  and 
when  the  spade  constantly  encounters  a  debris 
of  broken  beams,  sandbags,  rifles,  and  other 
impediments,  and  the  work  has  to  be  performed 
in  eye-confusing  alternations  of  black  darkness 
and  dazzUng  flares,  it  makes  the  whole  thing 
doubly  hard.  When  you  add  in  the  constant 
whisk  of  passing  bullets  and  the  smack  of  their 
striking,  the  shriek  and  shattering  burst  of  high- 
explosive  shells,  and  the  drone  and  whirr  of  flying 
sphnters,    you    get     labour    conditions    removed 


164  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

to  the  utmost  limit  from  ideal,  and,  to  any  but 
the  men  of  the  Sappers,  well  over  the  edge  of  the 
impossible.  The  work  at  any  other  time  would 
have  been  gruesome  and  unnerving,  because  the 
gasping  and  groaning  of  the  wounded  hardly 
ceased  from  end  to  end  of  the  captured  trench, 
and  in  digging  out  the  collapsed  sections  many 
dead  Germans  and  some  British  were  found  block- 
ing the  vigorous  thrust  of  the  spades. 

DuSy  was  getting  *fair  fed  up,'  although 
he  still  worked  on  mechanically.  He  wondered 
vaguely  what  Bob  Shrillie  would  have  said  to 
any  member  of  the  trade  union  that  had  worked 
a  night,  a  day,  and  a  night  on  end.  He  wondered, 
too,  how  Bob  ShrilHe  would  have  shaped  in 
the  Eoyal  Engineers,  and,  for  all  his  cracldng 
muscles  and  the  back-breaking  weight  and  unwieldi- 
ness  of  the  wet  sandbags,  he  had  to  grin  at  the 
thought  of  Bob,  with  his  podgy  fat  fingers  and 
his  visible  rotundity  of  waistcoat,  sweating  and 
straining  there  in  the  wetness  and  darkness  with 
Death  whistling  past  his  ear  and  crashing  in  shrap- 
nel bursts  about  him.  The  joke  was  too  good  to 
keep  to  himself,  and  he  passed  it  to  Beefy  next 
time  he  came  near.  Beefy  saw  the  jest  clearly 
and  guffawed  aloud,  to  the  amazement  of  a  clay- 


A  CONVERT  TO  CONSCRIPTION       165 

daubed  infantryman  who  had  had  nothing  in 
his  mind  but  thoughts  of  death  and  loading  and 
firing  his  rifle  for  hours  past. 

'  Don't  wonder  Bob's  agin  conscription,'  said 
Beefy ;  *  they  might  conscription  'im,'  and  passed 
on  grinning. 

Duffy  had  never  looked  at  it  in  that  Hght. 
He'd  been  anti-conscription  himself,  though  now 
— ^mebbe — ^he  didn't  know — ^he  wasn't  so  sure. 

And  after  the  trench  was  more  or  less  repaired 
came  the  last  and  the  most  desperate  business 
of  all — ^the  *  wiring  '  out  there  in  the  open  under 
the  eye  of  the  soaring  hghts.  In  ones  and  twos 
during  the  intervals  of  darkness  the  men  tumbled 
over  the  parapet,  dragging  stakes  and  coils  of 
wire  behind  them.  They  managed  to  drive  short 
stakes  and  run  trip-wires  between  them  without 
the  enemy  suspecting  them.  When  a  Hght 
flamed,  every  man  dropped  flat  in  the  mud  and 
lay  still  as  the  dead  beside  them  till  the  hght  died. 
In  the  brief  intervals  of  darkness  they  drove  the 
stakes  with  muffled  hammers,  and  ran  the  lengths 
of  barbed  wire  between  them.  Heart  in  mouth 
they  worked,  one  eye  on  the  dimly  seen  hammer 
and  stake-head,  the  other  on  the  Oerman  trench, 
watching   for   the    first   upward    trailing   sparks 


166  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

of  the  flare.  Plenty  of  men  were  hit  of  course, 
because,  light  or  dark,  the  bullets  were  kept 
flying,  but  there  was  no  pause  in  the  work,  not 
even  to  help  the  wounded  in.  If  they  were  able 
to  crawl  they  crawled,  dropping  flat  and  still 
while  the  Hghts  burned,  hitching  themselves  pain- 
fully towards  the  parapet  under  cover  of  the  dark- 
ness. If  they  could  not  crawl  they  lay  still, 
dragging  themselves  perhaps  behind  the  cover 
of  a  dead  body  or  lying  quiet  in  the  open  till  the 
time  would  come  when  helpers  would  seek  them. 
Their  turn  came  when  the  low  wires  were  com- 
plete. The  wounded  were  brought  in  cautiously 
to  the  trench  then,  and  hoisted  over  the  parapet ; 
the  working  party  was  carefully  detailed  and 
each  man's  duty  marked  out  before  they  crawled 
again  into  the  open  with  long  stakes  and  strands 
of  barbed  wire.  The  party  lay  there  minute 
after  minute,  through  periods  of  hght  and  dark- 
ness, until  the  officer  in  charge  thought  a  favour- 
able chance  had  come  and  gave  the  arranged 
signal.  Every  man  leaped  to  his  feet,  the  stakes 
were  planted,  and  quick  blow  after  blow  drove 
them  home.  Another  Hght  soared  up  and  flared 
out,  and  every  man  dropped  and  held  his  breath, 
waiting  for  the  crash  of  fire  that  would  tell  they 


A  CONVERT  TO  CONSCRIPTION       167 

were  discovered.  But  the  flare  died  out  without 
a  sign,  and  the  working  party  hurriedly  renewed 
their  task.  This  time  the  darkness  held  for  an 
unusual  length  of  time,  and  the  stakes  were  planted, 
the  wires  fastened,  and  cross-pieces  of  wood  with 
interlacings  of  barbed  wire  all  ready  were  rolled  out 
and  pegged  down  without  another  light  showing. 
The  word  passed  down  and  the  men  scrambled 
back  into  safety. 

*  Better  shoot  a^  light  up  quick,'  said  the 
Engineer  officer  to  the  infantry  commander. 
*  They  have  a  working  party  out  now.  I  heard 
'em  hammering.  That's  why  they  went  so  long 
without  a  light.' 

A  pistol  light  was  fired  and  the  two  stared  out 
into  the  open  ground  it  lit.  '  Thought  so,'  said 
the  Engineer,  pointing.  '  New  stakes — see  ?  And 
those  fellows  lying  beside  'em.' 

*  Get  your  tools  together,  sergeant,'  he  said, 
as  several  more  fights  fiamed  and  a  burst  of  rapid 
fire  rose  from  the  British  rifles,  *  and  collect  your 
party.    Our  job's  done,  and  I'm  not  sorry  for  it.' 

It  was  just  breaking  dayfight  when  the  remains 
of  the  Engineers'  party  emerged  from  the  com- 
munication trench  and  already  the  guns  on  both 
sides  were  beginning  to  talk.    Beefy  Wilson  and 


168  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

Jem  Duffy  between  them  found  Jigger's  body 
and  brought  it  as  far  as  the  dressing  station. 
Behind  the  trenches  Beefy's  company  and  Jem's 
section  took  different  roads,  and  the  two  old 
friends  parted  with  a  casual  *  S'  long '  and  *  See 
yon  again  sometime.' 

Duffy  had  two  hours'  sleep  in  a  sopping  wet 
roofless  house,  about  three  miles  behind  the  firing 
line.  Then  the  section  was  roused  and  marched 
back  to  their  billets  in  a  shell-wrecked  village,  a 
good  ten  miles  farther  back.  They  found  what 
was  left  of  the  other  three  sections  of  the  South- 
land Company  there,  heard  the  tale  of  how  the 
Company  had  been  cut  up  in  advancing  with  the 
charging  infantry,  ate  a  meal,  scraped  some  of 
the  mud  off  themselves,  and  sought  their  blankets 
and  wet  straw  beds. 

Jem  Duffy  could  not  get  the  thought  of  Bob 
Shrillie,  labour  leader  and  agitator,  out  of  his 
mind,  and  mixed  with  his  thoughts  as  he  went 
to  sleep  were  that  officer's  remarks  about  pressed 
men.  That  perhaps  accounts  for  his  waking 
thoughts  running  on  the  same  groove  when  his 
sergeant  roused  him  at  black  midnight  and 
informed  him  the  section  was  being  turned  out — 
to  dig  trenches. 


A  CONVERT  TO  CONSCRIPTION       169 

*  Trenches,'  spluttered  Sapper  DuUy, ' .  .  .  us  ? 
How  is  it  our  turn  again  ?  ' 

'  Becos,  my  son,'  said  the  Sergeant,  *  there's 
nobody  else  about  'ere  to  take  a  turn.  Come 
on  !    Roll  out !    Show  a  leg  ! ' 

It  was  then  that  Sapper  Duffy  was  finally 
converted,  and  renounced  for  ever  and  ever  his 
anti-conscription  principles. 

'Nobody  else,'  he  said  slowly,  'an'  England 
fair  stiff  wi'  men.  .  .  .  The  sooner  we  get  Con- 
scription, the  better  I'll  like  it.  Conscription 
solid  for  every  bloomin'  able-bodied  man  an' 
boy.  An'  I  'ope  Bob  Shrillie  an'  'is  likes  is  the 
first  to  be  took.  Conscription,'  he  said  with  the 
emphasis  of  finality  as  he  fumbled  in  wet  straw 
for  a  wetter  boot,  '  out-an'-out,  lock,  stock,  'n 
barrel  Conscription.' 

•  .  •  •  • 

That  same  night  Bob  Shrillie  was  presiding 
at  a  meeting  of  the  Strike  Committee.  He  had 
read  on  the  way  to  the  meeting  the  communique 
that  told  briefly  of  Sapper  Duffy  and  his  fellow 
Engineers'  work  of  the  night  before,  and  the 
descriptive  phrase  struck  him  as  sounding  neat 
and  effective.  He  worked  it  now  into  his  speech 
to   the   Committee,    explaining   how   and   where 


170  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

they  and  he  benefited  by  this  strike,  unpopular 
as  it  had  proved. 

*  We've  vindicated  the  rights  of  the  workers,' 
he  said.  *  We've  shown  that,  war  or  no  war, 
Labour  means  to  be  more  than  mere  wage-slaves. 
War  can't  last  for  ever,  and  we  here,  this  Com- 
mittee, proved  ourselves  by  this  strike  the  true 
leaders  and  the  Champions  of  Labour,  the 
Guardians  of  the  Rights  of  Trade  Unionism.  We, 
gentlemen,  have  always  been  that,  and  by  the 
strike' — and  he  concluded  with  the  phrase  from 
the  despatch — 'we  have  maintained  and  con- 
solidated our  position.' 

The  Committee  said,  '  Hear,  hear.'  It  is  a 
pity  they  could  not  have  heard  what  Sapper 
Duffy  was  saying  as  he  sat  up  in  his  dirty  wet 
straw,  listening  to  the  rustle  and  patter  of  rain 
on  the  barn's  leaky  roof  and  tugging  on  an 
icy-cold  board-stiff  boot. 


'BUSINESS  AS  USUAL' 

The  remains  of  the  Regiment  were  slowly 
working  their  way  back  out  of  action.  They 
had  been  in  it  for  three  days — ^three  strenuous 
nights  and  days  of  marching,  of  fighting,  of 
sufiering  under  heavy  shell-fire,  of  insufficient 
and  broken  sleep,  of  irregular  and  unpalatable 
rations,  of  short  commons  of  water,  of  nerve- 
stretching  excitement  and  suspense,  all  the  in- 
evitable discomforts  and  hardships  that  in  the 
best  organised  of  armies  must  be  the  part  of  any 
hard-fought  action.  The  Regiment  had  sufiered 
cruelly,  and  their  casualties  had  totalled  some 
sixty  per  cent,  of  the  strength.  And  now  they 
were  coming  back,  jaded  and  worn,  filthily  grimed 
and  dirty,  unshaven,  unwashed,  footsore,  and 
limping,  but  still  in  good  heart  and  able  to  see 
a  subject  for  jests  and  laughter  in  the  sprawHng 
fall  of  one  of  their  number  plunging  hastily  to 
shelter  from  the  unexpected  rush  and  crash  of 
a  shell,  in  the  sultry  stream  of  remarks  from  an 

171 


172  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

exasperated  private  when  he  discovered  a  bullet- 
pierced  water-bottle  and  the  loss  of  his  last  precious 
drops  of  water. 

The  men.  were  trickHng  out  in  slow,  thin 
streams  along  communication  and  support  trenches, 
behind  broken  buildings  and  walls  and  barricades, 
under  any  cover  that  screened  them  from  the 
watchful  eyes  of  the  enemy  observers  perched 
high  in  trees  and  buildings  and  everywhere  they 
could  obtain  a  good  look-out  over  our  lines. 

In  the  minds  of  the  men  the  thoughts  of  almost 
all  ran  in  the  same  grooves — first  and  most 
strongly,  because  perhaps  the  oftenest  framed 
in  speech,  that  it  was  hot — this  hot  and  that 
hot,  hot  as  so-and-so  or  such-and-such,  according 
to  the  annoyance  or  wit  of  the  speaker ;  second, 
and  much  less  clearly  defined,  a  duD  satisfaction 
that  they  had  done  their  share,  and  done  it  well, 
and  that  now  they  were  on  their  way  out  to  all 
the  luxury  of  plenty  of  food  and  sleep,  water  to 
drink,  water  and  soap  to  wash  with ;  third,  and 
increasing  in  proportion  as  they  got  farther 
from  the  forward  Hue  and  the  chance  of  being  hit, 
a  great  anxiety  to  reach  the  rear  in  safety.  The 
fear  of  being  hit  by  shell  or  bullet  was  a  hundred- 
fold greater  than  it  had  been  during  their  part 


*  BUSINESS  AS  USUAL '  173 

in  the  action,  when  the  risk  was  easily  a  hundred 
times  greater,  and  more  sympathy  was  expended 
over  one  man  *  casualtied '  coming  out  than  over 
a  score  of  those  killed  in  the  actual  fight.  It 
seemed  such  hard  lines,  after  going  through  all 
they  had  gone  through  and  escaping  it  scot  free, 
that  a  man  should  be  caught  just  when  it  was 
all  over  and  he  was  on  the  verge  of  a  more  or  less 
prolonged  spell  outside  the  urgent  danger  zone. 

The  engagement  was  not  over  yet.  It  had 
been  raging  with  varying  intensity  for  almost  a 
week,  had  resulted  in  a  considerable  advance  of 
the  British  Hne,  and  had  now  resolved  itself  into 
a  spasmodic  series  of  struggles  on  the  one  side  to 
*  make  good '  the  captured  ground  and  steal  a 
few  more  yards,  if  possible ;  on  the  other,  to 
strengthen  the  defence  against  further  attacks 
and  to  make  the  captured  trenches  untenable. 

But  the  struggle  now  was  to  the  Regiment 
coming  out  a  matter  of  almost  outside  interest, 
an  interest  reduced  nearly  to  the  level  of  the 
newspaper  readers'  at  home,  something  to  read 
or  hear  and  talk  about  in  the  intervals  of  eating 
and  drinking,  of  work  and  amusement  and  sleep 
and  the  ordinary  incidents  of  daily  Hfe.  Except, 
of  course,  that  the  Regiment  always  had  at  the 


174  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

back  of  this  casual  interest  the  more  personal  one 
that  if  afiairs  went  badly  their  routine  existence 
*  in  reserve  '  might  be  rudely  interrupted  and  they 
might  be  hurried  back  and  flung  again  into  the  fight. 
But  that  was  unHkely,  and  meantime  there 
were  still  stray  shells  and  bullets  to  be  dodged, 
the  rifles  and  kits  were  blasphemously  heavy, 
and  it  was  most  blasphemously  hot.  The  men 
were  occupied  enough  in  picking  their  steps  in  the 
broken  ground,  in  their  plodding,  laborious  progress, 
above  all  in  paying  heed  to  the  order  constantly 
passing  back  to  '  keep  low,'  but  they  were  still 
able  to  note  with  a  sort  of  professional  interest 
the  damage  done  to  the  countryside.  A  *  small- 
holding' cottage  between  the  trenches  had  been 
shelled  and  set  on  fire,  and  was  gutted  to  the 
four  bare,  blackened  walls.  The  ground  about  it 
still  showed  in  the  little  squares  and  oblongs 
that  had  divided  the  different  cultivations,  but 
the  difference  now  was  merely  of  various  weeds 
and  rank  growths,  and  the  ground  was  thickly 
pitted  with  shell-holes.  A  length  of  road  was 
gridironed  with  deep  and  laboriously  dug  trenches, 
and  of  the  poplars  that  ran  along  its  edge 
some  were  broken  off  in  jagged  stumps,  some 
stood  with  stems  as  straight  and    bare  ai   tele- 


•BUSINESS  AS  USUAL  '  175 

graph  poles,  or  half  cut  through  and  collapsed 
like  a  half-shut  knife  or  an  inverted  V,  with  their 
heads  in  the  dust ;  others  were  left  with  heads 
snapped  o££  and  dangling  in  grey  withered  leaves, 
or  with  branches  glinting  white  splinters  and 
stripped  naked,  as  in  the  dead  of  winter.  In  an 
orchard  the  fruit  trees  were  smashed,  uprooted, 
heaped  pell-mell  in  a  tangle  of  broken  branches, 
bare  twisted  trunks,  fragments  of  stump  a  foot 
or  a  yard  high,  here  a  tree  slashed  off  short,  lifted, 
and  flung  a  dozen  yards,  and  left  head  down  and 
trunk  in  air ;  there  a  row  of  currant  bushes  with 
»  yawning  shell-crater  in  the  middle,  a  ragged 
remnant  of  bush  at  one  end  and  the  rest  vanished 
utterly,  leaving  only  a  line  of  torn  stems  from  an 
inch  to  a  foot  long  to  mark  their  place. 

A  farm  of  some  size  had  been  at  one  time  a 
point  in  the  advanced  trenches,  and  had  been 
converted  into  a  *  keep/  Its  late  owner  would 
never  have  recognised  it  in  its  new  part.  Such 
walls  as  were  left  had  been  buttressed  out  of 
sight  by  sandbags ;  trenches  twisted  about  the 
outbuildings,  burrowed  under  and  into  them,  and 
wriggled  out  again  through  holes  in  the  walls ; 
a  market  cart,  turned  upside  down,  and  earthed 
over  to  form  a  bomb -store,  occupied  a  corner  of 


176  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

the  farmyard ;  cover  for  snipers'  loopholes  had 
been  constructed  from  ploughshares  ;  a  remaining 
fragment  of  a  grain  loft  had  become  an  '  ob- 
serving station ' ;  the  farm  kitchen  a  doctor's 
dressing  station ;  the  cow-house  a  machine-gun 
place ;  the  cellar,  with  the  stove  transplanted 
from  the  kitchen,  a  cooking,  eating,  and  sleeping 
room.  All  the  roofs  had  been  shelled  out  of 
existence.  All  the  walls  were  notched  by  shells 
and  peppered  thick  with  bullet  marks.  A  sup- 
port trench  about  shoulder  deep  with  a  low  parapet 
along  its  front  was  so  damaged  by  shell  fire  that 
the  men  for  the  most  part  had  to  move  along 
it  bent  almost  double  to  keep  out  of  sight  and 
bullet  reach.  Every  here  and  there — where  a  shell 
had  lobbed  fairly  in— there  was  a  huge  crater, 
its  sides  sealing  up  the  trench  with  a  mass  of 
tumbled  earth  over  which  the  men  scrambled 
crouching.  Behind  the  trench  a  stretch  of  open 
field  was  pitted  and  pock-marked  with  shell-holes 
of  all  sizes  from  the  shallow  scoop  a  yard  across 
to  the  yawning  crater,  big  and  deep  enough  to 
bury  the  whole  field-gun  that  had  made  the 
smaller  hole.  The  field  looked  exactly  like  those 
pictures  one  sees  in  the  magazines  of  a  lunar 
landscape  or  the  extinct  volcanoes  of  the  moon. 


*  BUSINESS  AS  USUAL '  177 

The  line  of  men  turned  at  last  into  a  long 
deep-cut  communication  trench  leading  out  into 
a  village.  The  air  in  the  trench  was  heavy  and 
close  and  stagnant,  and  the  men  toiled  wearily 
up  it,  sweating  and  breathing  hard.  At  a  branching 
fork  one  path  was  labelled  with  a  neatly  printed 
board  'To  Battn.  H.Q.  and  the  Mole  Heap,' 
and  the  other  path  *  To  the  Duck  Pond ' — this 
last,  the  name  of  a  trench,  being  a  reminder  of 
the  winter  and  the  wet.  The  officer  leading  the 
party  turned  into  the  trench  for  *  The  Mole  Heap,* 
walked  up  it,  and  emerged  into  the  sunhght  of 
the  grass-grown  village  street,  skirted  a  house, 
crossed  the  street  by  a  trench,  and  passed  through 
a  hole  chipped  out  of  the  brick  wall  into  a  house, 
the  men  tramping  at  his  heels.  The  whole  village 
was  seamed  with  a  maze  of  trenches,  but  these 
were  only  for  use  when  the  shelHng  had  been 
particularly  heavy.  At  other  times  people  moved 
about  the  place  by  paths  sufficiently  well  protected 
by  houses  and  walls  against  the  rifle  bullets  that 
had  practically  never  ceased  to  smack  into  the 
village  for  many  months  past.  These  paths  wan- 
dered behind  buildings,  across  gardens,  into  and 
out  of  houses  either  by  doors  or  by  holes  in  the  wall, 
over  or  round  piles  of  rubble  or  tumbled  brick- 


178  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

work,  burrowed  at  times  below  ground-level  on 
patches  exposed  to  fire,  ran  frequently  through 
a  dozen  cottages  on  end,  passage  having  been 
efiected  simply  by  hacking  holes  through  the 
connecting  brick  walls,  in  one  place  dived  under- 
ground down  some  short  stairs  and  took  its  way 
through  several  cellars  by  the  same  simple  method 
of  walking  through  the  walls  from  one  cellar  to 
another.  The  houses  were  Uttered  with  empty 
and  rusty  tins,  torn  and  dirty  clothing,  ash- 
choked  stoves,  trampled  straw,  and  broken  furni- 
ture. The  back-yards  and  gardens  were  piled 
with  heaps  of  bricks  and  tiles,  biscuit  and  jam 
tins ;  broken  fences  and  rotted  rags  were  over- 
run with  a  rank  growth  of  grass  and  weeds  and 
flowers,  pitted  with  shell-holes  and  strewn  with 
graves. 

The  whole  village  was  wrecked  from  end  to 
end,  was  no  more  than  a  charnel  house,  a  smashed 
and  battered  sepulchre.  There  was  not  one  building 
that  was  whole,  not  one  roof  that  had  more  than 
a  few  tiles  clinging  to  shattered  rafters,  hardly 
a  wall  that  was  not  cracked  and  bulged  and 
broken. 

In  the  houses  they  passed  through  the  men 
could   still   find   sufficient   traces   of   the   former 


*  BUSINESS  AS  USUAL'  179 

occupants  to  indicate  their  class  and  station. 
One  might  have  been  a  labourer's  cottage,  with 
a  rough  deal  table,  a  red-rusted  stove-fireplace, 
an  oleograph  in  flaming  crude  colours  of  the 
*  Virgin  and  Child '  hanging  on  the  plaster  wall, 
the  fragments  of  a  rough  cradle  overturned  in  a 
corner,  a  few  coarse  china  crocks  and  ornaments 
and  figures  chipped  and  broken  and  scattered  about 
the  mantel,  and  the  bare  board  floor.  Another 
house  had  plainly  been  a  home  of  some  refine- 
ment. The  rooms  were  large,  with  lofty  ceihngs ; 
there  were  carpets  on  the  floors,  although  so 
covered  with  dirt  and  dried  mud  and  the  dust  of 
fallen  plaster  that  they  were  hardly  discernible 
as  carpets.  In  one  room  a  large  pohshed  table 
had  a  broken  leg  replaced  by  an  up-ended  barrel, 
one  big  arm-chair  had  its  springs  and  padding 
showing  through  the  burst  upholstering.  Another 
was  minus  all  its  legs,  and  had  the  back  wrenched 
oS  and  laid  flat  with  the  seat  on  the  floor,  evidently 
to  make  a  bed.  There  were  several  good  engravings 
hanging  askew  on  the  walls  or  lying  about  the 
floor,  all  soiled  with  rain  and  cut  and  torn  by  their 
sphntered  glass.  The  large  open-grate  fireplace 
had  an  artistically  carved  overmantel  sadly 
chipped    and    smoke-blackened,    a    tiled    hearth 


180  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

in  fragments ;  the  wall-paper  in  a  tasteful  desigD 
of  dark-green  and  gold  was  blotched  and  dis- 
coloured, and  hung  in  peeUng  strips  and  gigantic 
*  dog's-ears  * ;  from  the  poles  and  rings  over 
the  windows  the  tattered  fragments  of  a  lace 
curtain  dangled.  There  was  plenty  of  evidence 
that  the  room  had  been  occupied  by  others  since 
its  lawful  tenants  had  fled.  It  was  strewn  with 
broken  or  cast-oS  mihtary  equipments,  worn-out 
boots,  frayed  and  mud-caked  putties,  a  burst 
haversack  and  pack-vahse,  a  holed  water-bottle, 
broken  webbing  straps  and  belts,  a  bayonet 
with  a  snapped  blade,  a  torn  grey  shirt,  and  a 
goatskin  coat.  The  windows  had  the  shutters 
closed,  and  were  sandbagged  up  three  parts 
their  height,  the  need  for  this  being  evident  from 
the  clean,  round  bullet-holes  in  the  shutters  above 
the  sandbags,  and  the  ragged  tears  and  holes 
in  the  upper  part  of  the  opposite  wall.  In  an 
upper  corner  a  gaping  shell-hole  had  hnen  table- 
cloths five  or  six  fold  thick  hung  over  to  screen 
the  hght  from  showing  through  at  night.  In 
a  corner  lay  a  heap  of  mouldy  straw  and  a  bed- 
mattress;  the  table  and  fireplace  were  httered 
with  dirty  pots  and  dishes,  the  floor  with  empty  jam 
and    biscuit    tins,   opened   and    unopened  bully- 


*  BUSINESS  AS  USUAL'  181 

beef  tins,  more  being  full  than  empty  because 
the  British  soldier  must  be  very  near  starving 
point  before  he  is  driven  to  eat  *  bully/  Over 
everything  lay,  hke  a  white  winding-sheet,  the 
cover  of  thick  plaster-dust  shaken  down  from 
the  ceiling  by  the  hammer-blows  of  the  shells. 
The  room  door  opened  into  a  passage.  At  its 
end  a  wide  staircase  curved  up  into  empty  space, 
the  top  banisters  standing  out  against  the  open 
blue  sky.  The  whole  upper  storey  had  been  blown 
o£E  by  shell  fire  and  lay  in  the  garden  behind 
the  house,  a  jumble  of  brickwork,  window-frames, 
tiles,  beams,  beds  and  bedroom  furniture,  Hnen, 
and  clothes. 

These  houses  were  inexpressibly  sad  and  for- 
lorn-looking, with  all  their  privacy  and  inner 
homehness  naked  and  exposed  to  the  passer-by 
and  the  staring  sunHght.  Some  were  no  more 
than  heaps  of  brick  and  stone  and  mortar ;  but 
these  gave  not  nearly  such  a  sense  of  desolation 
and  desertion  as  those  less  damaged,  as  one,  for 
instance,  with  its  front  blown  completely  out, 
so  that  one  could  look  into  all  its  rooms,  upper 
and  lower  and  the  stairs  between,  exactly  as  one 
looks  into  those  dolls'  houses  where  the  front 
is  !hinged  to  swing  open. 


182  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

The  village  had  been  on  the  edge  of  the  fighting 
zone  for  months,  had  been  casually  shelled  each  day 
in    normal    times,    bombarded    furiously    during 
every  attack  or  counter-attack.    The  church,  with 
its  spire  or  tower,  had  probably  been  suspected  as 
an  artillery  observing  station  by  the  Germans,  and 
so  had  drawn  a  full  share  of  the  fire.    All  that 
was  left  of  the  church  itself  was  one  corner  of 
shell-holed  walls,  and  a  few  roof-beams  torn  and 
splintered  and  stripped  of  cover.    The  tower  was 
a  broken,  jagged,   stump— an  empty  shell,   with 
one  side  blown  almost  completely  out ;  the  others, 
or  what  remained  of  them,  cracked  and  tottering. 
The   churchyard   was   a   wild   chaos    of   tumbled 
masonry,  broken  slates,  uprooted  and  overturned 
tombstones,   jumbled   wooden   crosses,   crucifixes, 
black    wooden    cases    with    fronts    of    splintered 
glass,    torn    wreaths,    and    crosses    of    imitation 
flowers.     Amongst  the  graves  yawned  huge  shell 
craters  ;    tossed  hither  and  thither  amongst  the 
graves   and   broken   monuments   and   bricks   and 
rubbish  were  bones  and  fragments  of  coffins. 

But  all  the  graves  were  not  m  the  churchyard. 
The  whole  village  was  dotted  from  end  to  end 
with  them,  some  alone  in  secluded  corners,  others 
in  rows  in  the  backyards  and  vegetable  gardens. 


•BUSINESS  AS  USUAL*  183 

Most  of  tliem  were  marked  with  crosses,  each 
made  of  two  pieces  of  packing-case  or  biscuit-box, 
with  a  number,  rank,  name,  and  regiment  printed 
in  indelible  pencil.  On  some  of  the  graves  were 
bead- work  flowers,  on  others  a  jam-pot  or  crock 
holding  a  handful  of  withered  sun-dried  flower- 
stalks.  Nearly  all  were  huddled  in  close  to  house 
or  garden  walls,  one  even  in  the  narrow  passage 
between  two  houses.  There  were,  in  many  cases, 
other  and  less  ugly  open  spaces  and  gardens 
offering  a  score  of  paces  from  these  forlorn  last 
resting-places  apparently  so  oddly  selected  and 
sadly  misplaced ;  but  a  second  look  showed  that 
in  each  case  the  grave  was  dug  where  some  wall 
or  house  afforded  cover  to  the  burying-party 
from  bullets.  In  the  bright  sunlight,  half -hidden 
under  or  behind  heaps  of  debris,  with  crosses 
leaning  drunkenly  aslant,  these  graves  looked 
woefully  dreary  and  depressing.  But  the  files  of 
men  moving  round  and  between  them,  or  stepping 
carefully  over  them,  hardly  gave  them  a  glance, 
except  where  one  in  passing  caught  at  a  leaning 
cross  and  thrust  it  deeper  and  straighter  into 
the  earth.  But  the  men's  indifference  meant  no 
lack  of  feehng  or  respect  for  the  dead.  The 
respect    was    there,    subtle    but    unmistakable, 


184  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

instanced  slightly  by  the  care  every  man  took 
not  to  set  foot  on  a  grave,  by  the  straightening 
of  that  cross,  by  those  withered  flowers  and  dirty 
wreaths,  even  as  it  has  been  shown  scores  of 
times  by  the  men  who  crawl  at  risk  of  their  lives 
into  the  open  between  the  forward  trenches  at 
night  to  bring  in  their  dead  for  decent  burial. 

Outside  the  shattered  village  stood  the  remains 
of  a  large  factory,  and  on  this  the  outcoming 
files  of  the  Regiment  converged,  and  the  first 
arrivals  halted  to  await  the  rest.  What  industry 
the  factory  had  been  concerned  with  it  was 
impossible  to  tell.  It  was  full  of  machinery, 
smashed,  bent,  twisted,  and  overturned,  all  red 
with  rust,  mixed  up  with  and  in  parts  covered 
by  stone  and  brickwork,  beams  and  iron  girders, 
the  whole  sprinkled  over  with  gleaming  fragments 
of  window-glass  The  outside  walls  were  almost 
completely  knocked  flat,  tossed  helter-skelter  out- 
wards or  on  top  of  the  machinery.  The  tall 
chimney — another  suspected  *  observing  post  * 
probably — lay  in  a  heap  of  broken  brickwork 
with  the  last  yard  or  two  of  the  base  standing 
up  out  of  the  heap,  and  even  in  its  remaining 
stump  were  other  ragged  shell-holes.  A  couple 
of  huge   boilers   had   been  torn   o3  their   brick 


*  BUSINESS  A3  USUAL '  185 

furnaces  by  the  force  of  some  monster  shell  and 
tossed  clear  yards  away.  One  was  poised  across 
the  broken  outer  wall,  with  one  end  in  the  road. 
The  thick  rounded  plates  were  bent  and  dented 
in  Hke  a  kicked  biscuit-tin,  were  riddled  and 
pierced  through  and  through  as  if  they  had  been 
paper.  The  whole  factory  and  its  machinery 
must  once  have  represented  a  value  of  many 
thousands  of  francs.  Now  it  was  worth  just 
the  value  of  its  site — ^less  the  cost  of  clearing  it 
of  debris — ^and  the  price  of  some  tons  of  old  iron. 

Some  of  the  men  wandered  about  amongst 
the  ruins,  examining  them  curiously,  tracing 
the  work  of  individual  shells,  speculating  on  the 
number  of  hands  the  place  had  once  employed, 
and  where  those  hands  were  now. 

'  Man,  man,'  said  a  Scottish  private,  *  sic  an 
awfu'  waste.     Think  o*  the  siller  it  must  ha' cost.' 

*  'Ow  would  you  hke  to  be  a  share-'older  in 
the  company,  Jock  ?  '  said  his  companion.  *  Ain't 
many  diwydends  due  to  'em  this  Christmas.* 

The  Scot  shook  his  head  sadly.  *  This  place 
an'  the  hale  toon  laid  waste,'  he  said.  *  It's 
awfu*  tae  think  o'  it.* 

*  An*  this  is  one  bloomin*  pebble  in  a  whole 
bloomin'  beach,'  said  the  other.     *  D'you  remember 


186  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

Wipers  an'  all  them  other  towns  ?  An'  that 
old  chap  we  saw  sittin*  on  the  roadside  weepin' 
'is  eyes  out  *cos  the  farm  an*  the  fruit-trees  'e'd 
spent  *is  hfe  fixin'  up  was  blowed  to  glory  b' 
Jack  Johnsons.  We  'ave  seed  some  rummy  shows 
'ere,  'aven't  we  ?  Not  but  what  this  ain't  a 
pretty  fair  sample  o'  wreck/  he  continued  critically. 
*  There's  plenty  'ud  think  they'd  got  their  two- 
pennorth  to  see  this  on  the  screen  o'  a  picture- 
show  at  'ome,  Jock.' 

*  Huh  !  Picturs  ! '  snified  Jock.  *  Picturs, 
and  the-ayters,  and  racin',  and  fitba'.  Ah  wunner 
folks  hasna  better  use  for  their  time  and  money, 
at  sic  a  time  's  this.' 

*  Aw,'  said  the  other,  *  But  y'  forget,  Jock. 
Out  'ere  they  'ave  their  'ouses  blown  up  an'  their 
business  blown  in.  A  thousan'  a  day  o'  the  like 
o'  you  an'  me  may  be  gettin'  killed  off  for  six 
months  on  end.     But  at  'ome,  Jock — aw  ! ' 

He  stooped  and  picked  up  a  lump  of  white, 
chalky  earth  from  the  roadside,  scrawled  with 
it  on  the  huge  boiler-end  that  rested  on  the  broken 
wall,  and  left  the  written  words  to  finish  the 
spoken  sentence. 

Jock  read,  and  later  the  remains  of  the  Regi- 
ment read  as  they    moved  ofi    past  the    aching 


*  BUSINESS  AS  USUAL'  187 

desolation  of  the  silent  factory,  down  the  shell- 
torn  road,  across  the  war-swept  ruins  of  a  whole 
country-side.  A  few  scowled  at  the  thoughts 
the  words  raised,  the  most  grinned  and  passed 
rough  jests ;  but  to  all  those  men  in  the  thinned 
ranks,  their  dead  behind  them,  the  scenes  of  ruin 
before  them,  the  words  bit,  and  bit  deep.  They 
ran : 

But  it's 

Bisness  As  Usual 

AT  HOME 


A  HYMN  OF  HATE 

*  The  troops  continue  in  excellent  spirits.^ — 
Extract  from  Official  Despatch. 

To  appreciate  properly,  from  the  Army's  point 
of  view,  tlie  humour  of  this  story,  it  must  always 
be  remembered  that  the  regiment  concerned  is 
an  Enghsh  one — entirely  and  emphatically  English, 
and  indeed  almost  entirely  Bast  End  Cockney. 

It  is  true  that  the  British  Army  on  active 
service  has  a  sense  of  humour  peculiarly  its  o  n, 
and  respectable  civilians  have  been  known,  w  en 
jests  were  retailed  with  the  greatest  gusto  by 
soldier  raconteurs,  to  shudder  and  fail  utterly 
to  understand  that  there  could  be  any  humour 
in  a  tale  so  mixed  up  with  the  grim  and  ghastly 
business  of  killing  and  being  killed. 

A  biggish  battle  had  died  out  about  a  week 
before  in  the  series  of  spasmodic  struggles  of  dimin- 
ishing fury  that  have  characterised  most  of  the 
battles  on  the  Western  Front,  when  the  Tower 

188 


A  HYMN  OF  HATE  189 

Bridge  Foot  found  themselves  in  occupation  of 
a  portion  of  the  forward  line  which  was  only 
separated  from  the  German  trench  by  a  distance 
varying  from  forty  to  one  hundred  yards.  Such 
close  proximity  usually  results  in  an  interchange 
of  compliments  between  the  two  sides,  either  by 
speech  or  by  medium  of  a  board  with  messages 
written  on  it — the  board  being  reserved  usually 
for  the  strokes  of  wit  most  likely  to  sting,  and 
therefore  best  worth  coDveying  to  the  greatest 
possible  number  of  the  enemy. 

The  *  Towers '  were  hardly  installed  in  their 
new  position  when  a  voice  came  from  the  German 
parapet,  '  Hello.  Tower  Bridge  Foot !  Pleased  to 
meet  you  again.' 

The  EngUshmen  were  too  accustomed  to  it 
to  be  surprised  by  this  uncannily  prompt  recogni- 
tion by  the  enemy  of  a  newly  reheving  regiment 
of  which  they  had  not  seen  so  much  as  a  cap 
top. 

'Hullo,  Boshy,'  retorted  one  of  the  Towers. 
*  You're  makin'  a  mistake  this  time.  We  ain't 
the  Tower  Bridges.  We're  the  Kamchatka 
'Ighlanders.' 

*An'  you're  a  liar  if  you  says  you're  pleased 
to  mf^  us  again,'  put  in  another.    *  If  you've 


190  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

met  us  afore  I  lay  you  was  too  dash  sorry  for  it 
to  want  to  meet  us  again.' 

'  Oh,  we  know  who  you  are  all  right '  replied 
the  voice.  *  And  we  know  you've  just  relieved 
the  Fifth  Blankshires ;  and  what's  more,  we 
know  who's  going  to  relieve  you,  and  when.' 

'  'E  knows  a  bloom  in'  heap,'  said  a  Tower 
Bridge  private  disgustedly ;  '  an'  wot's  more, 
I  believe  'e  does  know  it.'  Then,  raising  his  voice, 
he  asked,  '  Do  you  know  when  we're  comin'  to 
take  some  more  of  them  trenches  o'  yours  ?  ' 

This  was  felt  by  the  listening  Towers  to  be  a 
master-stroke,  remembering  that  the  British  had 
taken  and  held  several  trenches  a  week  before,  but 
the  reply  rather  took  the  wind  out  of  their  sails. 

*  You  can't  take  any  more,'  said  the  voice. 
*  You  haven't  shells  enough  for  another  attack. 
You  had  to  stop  the  last  one  because  your  guns 
were  running  short.' 

'  Any'ow,'  replied  an  English  corporal  who 
had  been  handing  round  half  a  dozen  grenades,  '  we 
ain't  anyways  short  o'  bombs.  'Ave  a  few  to  be 
goin'  on  with,'  and  he  and  his  party  let  fly.  They 
listened  with  satisfaction  to  the  bursts,  and  through 
their  trench  periscopes  watched  the  smoke  and 
dust  clouds  billowing  from  the  trench  opposite. 


A  HYMN  OF  HATE  191 

'  An*  this/  remarked  a  Tower  private,  *  is 
about  our  cue  to  exit,  the  stage  bein'  required 
for  a  scene-shift  by  some  Bosh  bombs/  and  he 
disappeared,  crawhng  into  a  dug-out.  During 
the  next  ten  minutes  a  couple  of  dozen  bombs 
came  over  and  burst  in  and  about  the  British 
trench  and  scored  three  casualties,  *  slightly 
wounded. ' 

*  Hi  there !  Where's  that  Soho  barber's 
assistant  that  thinks  'e  can  talk  Heuglish  ?  '  de- 
manded the  Towers'  spokesman  cheerfully. 

That  annoyed  the  English-speaking  German, 
as  of  course  incidentally  it  was  meant  to  do. 

*  I'm  here,  Private  Petticoat  Lane,'  retorted 
the  voice,  '  and  if  I  couldn't  speak  better  Enghsh 
than  you  I'd  be  shaming  Soho.' 

*  You're  doing  that  anyway,  you  bloomin' 
renegade    dog-stealer,'    called    back    the    private. 

*  W'y  didn't  you  pay  your  landlady  in  Lunnon 
for  the  lodgin's  you  owed  when  you  run 
away  ?  * 

*  Schweinhund  ! '  said  the  voice  angrily,  and 
a  bullet  slapped  into  the  parapet  in  front  of  the 
taunting  private. 

'  Corp'ril,'  said  that  artist  in  invective  softly, 

*  if  you'll  go  down  the  trench  a  bit  or  up  top  q 


192  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

that  old  barn  behind  I'll  get  this  bloomin'  Soho 
waiter  mad  enough  to  keep  on  shootin*  at  me> 
an'  you'll  p'raps  get  a  chance  to  snipe  'im.' 

The  corporal  sought  an  officer's  permission 
and  later  a  precarious  perch  on  the  broken  roof 
of  the  barn,  while  Private  Robinson  extended 
himself  in  the  manufacture  of  annoying  remarks. 

*  That  last  *un  was  a  fair  draw,  Smithy,'  he 
exulted  to  a  fellow  private.  *  I'll  bet  'e  shot  the 
moon,  did  a  bolt  for  it,  when  'e  mobihsed.' 

'  Like  enough,'  agreed  Smithy.  *  Go  on,  ol' 
man.     Give  'im  some  more  jaw.* 

*  I  s'pose  you  left  without  payin'  your  washin' 
bill  either,  didn't  you,  sower-krowt,'  demanded 
Private  Robinson.  There  was  no  reply  from 
the  opposition. 

*  I  expeck  you  lef  a  lot  o'  little  unpaid  bills, 
didn't  you  ? — ^if  you  was  able  to  find  anyone  to 
give  you  tick.' 

*  I'll  pay  them — ^when  we  take  London,' 
said  the  voice. 

*  That  don't  give  your  pore  ol'  landlady  much 
'ope,'  said  Robinson.  *  Take  Lunnon !  Bhmy, 
you're  more  hke  to  take  root  in  them  trenches 
o'  yours — ^unless  we  comes  over  again  an'  chases 
you  out.' 


A  HYMN  OF  HATE  193 

Again  there  was  no  reply.  Private  Robinson 
shook  his  head.  '  'E's  as  'ard  to  draw  as  the 
pay  that's  owin'  to  me/  he  said.  *  You  *ave 
a  go,  Smithy.' 

Smithy,  a  behever  in  the  retort  direct  and  no 
trafficker  in  the  finer  shades  of  sarcasm,  cleared 
his  throat  and  lifted  up  his  voice.  *  'Ere,  why 
don't  you  speak  when  you're  spoke  to,  you  lop- 
eared  lager-beer  barrel,  you.  Take  your  fice 
out  o'  that  'orse-flesh  cat's-meat  sossidge  an' 
speak  up,  you  baby-butch erin'  hen-roost  robber.' 

*  That  ain't  no  good,  Smithy,'  Private  Robinson 
pointed  out.  *  Y'see,  calhn'  'im  'ard  names  only 
makes  'im  think  'e's  got  you  angry  hke — ^that 
'e's  drawed  you.' 

(Another  voice  called  something  in  German.) 

*  Just  tell  them  other  monkeys  to  stop  their 
chatter,  Soho,'  he  called  out,  *  an'  get  back 
in  their  cage.  If  they  want  to  talk  to  gen^l'men 
they  must  talk  Enghsh.' 

*  I  like  your  d — d  impertinence,'  said  the  voice 
scornfully.  *  We'll  make  you  learn  German, 
though,  when  we've  taken  England.' 

*  Oh,  it's  Englan'  you're  takin'  now,*  said 
Private  Robinson.  *  But  all  you'll  ever  take 
of  Englan'  will  be  same  as  you  took  before — a 


194  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

tuppenny  tip  if  you  serves  the  soup  up  nice,  or  a 
penny  tip  if  you  gives  an  Englishman  a  proper 
clean  shave/ 

The  rifle  opposite  banged  again  and  the  bullet 
slapped  into  the  top  of  the  parapet.  *  That 
drawed  'im  again/  chuckled  Private  Robinson, 
*  but  I  wonder  why  the  corp'ril  didn't  get  a  whack 
at  *im/ 

He  pulled  away  a  small  sandbag  that  blocked 
a  loophole,  and,  holding  his  rifle  by  the  butt  at 
arm-length,  poked  the  muzzle  out  slowly.  A 
moment  later  two  reports  rang  out — one  from 
in  front  and  one  behind. 

*  I  got  'im,'  said  the  corporal  three  minutes 
later.  '  One  bloke  was  looking  with  a  periscope 
and  I  saw  a  little  cap  an'  one  eye  come  over  the 
parapet.  By  the  way  'is  'ands  jerked  up  an'  'is 
'ead  jerked  back  when  I  fired,  I  fancy  'e  copped 
it  right  enough.' 

Private  Robinson  got  to  work  with  a  piece  of 
chalk  on  a  board  and  hoisted  over  the  parapet  a 
notice,  *  R.I  .P.  1  Boshe,  late  lamented  Soho 
gargon.* 

*  Pity  I  dunno  the  German  for  "  late  lamented," 
but  they've  always  plenty  that  knows  English 
enough  to  unnerstand,'  he  commented. 


A  HYMN  OF  HATE  195 

He  spent  the  next  ten  minutes  ragging  the 
Germans,  directing  his  most  brilliant  efforts  of 
sarcasm  against  made-in-Germany  English-speakers 
generally  and  Soho  waiters  in  particular ;  and  he 
took  the  fact  there  was  no  reply  from  the  voice  as 
highly  satisfactory  evidence  that  it  had  been  the 
'  Soho  waiter  '   who  had  *  copped  it.' 

'  Exit  the  waiter — curtain,  an'  soft  music  ! ' 
remarked  a  private  known  as  'Enery  Irving 
throughout  the  battalion,  and  whistled  a  stave  of 
'  We  shall  meet,  but  we  shall  miss  him.' 

*  Come  on,  'Enery,  give  us  'is  dyin'  speech,' 
sonqie  one  urged,  and  'Enery  proceeded  to  recite 
an  impromptu  '  Dyin'  Speech  of  the  Dachshund- 
stealer,'  as  he  called  it,  in  the  most  approved 
fashion  of  the  East  End  drama,  with  all  the  accom- 
paniments of  rolling  eyes,  breast-clutchings,  and 
gasping  pauses. 

'  Now  then,  where's  the  orchestra  ? '  he 
demanded  when  the  applause  had  subsided,  and 
the  orchestra,  one  mouth-organ  strong,  promptly 
struck  up  a  lilting  music-hall  ditty.  From  that 
he  slid  into  'My  Little  Grey  Home,'  with  a  very 
liberal  measure  of  time  to  the  long-drawn  notes 
especially.  The  song  was  caught  up  and  ran 
down  the  trench  in  full  chorus.    When  it  finished 


196  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

the  orchestra  was  just  on  the  point  of  starting 
another  tune,  when  'Enery  held  up  his  hand. 

'  "  'E  goes  on  Sunday  to  the  church,  an'  sits 
among  the  choir." '  he  quoted  solemnly  and 
added,  '  Voices  'eard,  oS.' 

Two  or  three  men  were  singing  in  the  German 
trench,  and  as  they  sang  the  rest  joined  in  and 

*  Deutschland  iiber  Alles '  rolled  forth  in  full 
strength  and  harmony. 

'  Bray-vo !  An'  not  arf  bad  neither,'  said 
Private  Eobinson  approvingly.  '  Though  I  dunno 
wot  it's  all  abart.  Now  s'pose  we  gives  'em 
another.' 

They  did,   and  the   Germans  responded  with 

*  The  Watch  on  the  Ehine.'  This  time  Private 
Robinson  and  the  rest  of  the  Towers  recognised 
the  song  and  capped  it  in  great  glee  with  '  Winding 
up  the  Watch  on  the  Rhine,'  a  parody  which 
does  not  go  out  of  its  way  to  spare  German 
feelings. 

'     '  An'  'ow  d'you  like  that,  ol'  sossidge  scofiers  ?  ' 
demanded  Private  Robinson  loudly. 

*  You  vait,'  bellowed  a  guttural  voice.  *  Us 
vind  you  op — quick  ! ' 

*  Vind  op — squeak,  an'  squeakin','  retorted 
Private  Robinson. 


A  HYMN  OF  HATE  197 

The  German  reply  was  drowned  in  a  burst  of 
new  song  which  ran  like  wild-fiie  the  length  of 
the  Grerman  trench.  A  note  of  fierce  passion 
rang  in  the  voices,  and  the  Towers  sat  listening 
in  silence. 

*  Diinno  wot  it  is,'  said  one.  *  But  it  sounds 
like  they  was  sayin'  something  nasty,  an'  meanin' 
it  all.' 

But  one  word,  shouted  fiercely  and  lustily, 
caught  Private  Robinson's  ear. 

*  'Ark ! '  he  said  in  eager  anticipation.  '  I 
do  beheve  it's — s-sh  !  There ! '  triumphantly,  as 
again  the  word  rang  out — the  one  word  at  the  end 
of  the  verse  ...  *  England.^ 

*  It's  it.     It's  the  "  '  Ymn  of  'Ate  "  ! ' 

The  word  flew  down  the  British  trench — *  It's 
the  'Ymn  !  They're  singin'  the  " ' Ymn  of  'Ate/' ' 
and  every  man  sat  drinking  the  air  in  eagerly. 
This  was  luck,  pure  gorgeous  luck.  Hadn't  the 
Towers,  Kke  many  another  regiment,  heard  about 
the  famous  *  Hymn  of  Hate,'  and  read  it  in  the 
papers,  and  had  it  declaimed  with  a  fine  frenzy 
by  Private  'Enery  Irving  ?  Hadn't  they,  Hke 
plenty  other  regiments,  longed  to  hear  the  tune, 
but  longed  in  vain,  never  having  found  one  who 
knew  it  ?     And  here  it  was  being  sung  to  them 


198  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

in  full  chorus  by  the  Germans  themselves.     Oh, 
this  was  luck. 

The  mouth-organist  was  sitting  with  his  mouth 
open  and  his  head  turned  to  Usten,  as  if  afraid 
to  miss  a  single  note. 

*  'Ave  you  got  it,  Snapper  ?  '  whispered 
Private  Robinson  anxiously  at  the  end.  *  Will 
you  be  able  to  remember  it  ?  ' 

Snapper,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  vacancy,  began 
to  play  the  air  over  softly,  when  from  further  down 
the  trench  came  a  murmur  of  applause,  that  rose 
to  a  storm  of  hand-clappings  and  shouts  of  *  Bravo ! ' 
and  *  Encore — 'core — 'core  ! ' 

The  mouth-organist  played  on  unheedingly 
and  Private  Robinson  sat  following  him  with 
attentive  ear. 

*  I'm  not  sure  of  that  bit  just  there,'  said  the 
player,  and  tried  it  over  with  shght  variations. 

*  P'raps  I'll  remember  it  better  after  a  day  or 
two.     I'm  hke  that  wi'  some  toons.' 

*  We  might  kid  'em  to  sing  it  again,'  said 
Robinson    hopefully,    as    another    loud    cry    of 

*  Encore  ! '  rang  from  the  trench. 

*  Was  you  know  vat  we  haf  sing  ?  '  asked  a 
German  voice  in  tones  of  some  wonderment. 

*  It's  a  great  song,  Dutchie,'  rephed  Private 


A  HYMN  OF  HATE  199 

Robinson.  *  Fine  song — goot — bong  !  Sing  it 
again  to  us/ 

*  You  baf  not  understand/  said  tbe  German 
angrily,  and  tben  suddenly  from  a  little  further 
along  the  German  trench  a  clear  tenor  rose,  singing 
the  Hymn  in  Enghsh.  The  Towers  subsided 
into  rapt  silence,  hugging  themselves  over  their 
stupendous  luck.  When  the  singer  came  to  the 
end  of  the  verse  he  paused  an  instant,  and  a  roar 
leaped  from  the  German  trench  ...  *  England  ! ' 
It  died  away  and  the  singer  took  up  the  solo. 
Quicker  and  quicker  he  sang,  the  song  swirling 
upward  in  a  rising  note  of  passion.  It  checked 
and  hung  an  instant  on  the  last  Hne,  as  a  curling 
wave  hangs  poised ;  and  even  as  the  falling 
wave  breaks  thundering  and  rushing,  so  the 
song  broke  in  a  crash  of  sweeping  sound  along 
the  Hne  of  the  German  trench  on  that  one  word — 
•England!' 

Before  the  last  sound  of  it  had  passed,  the 
singer  had  plunged  into  the  next  verse,  his  voice 
soaring  and  shaking  with  an  intensity  of  feehng. 
The  whole  eJSect  was  inspiring,  wonderful,  dramatic. 
One  felt  that  it  was  emblematic,  the  heart  and 
soul  of  the  German  people  poured  out  in  music 
and    words.     And   the    scorn,    the    bitter    anger, 


200  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

hatred,  and  malice  that  vibrated  again  in  that 
chorused  last  word  might  well  have  brought  fear 
and  trembling  to  the  heart  of  an  enemy.  But 
the  enemy  immediately  concerned,  to  wit  His 
Majesty's  Regiment  of  Tower  Bridge  Foot,  were 
most  obviously  not  impressed  with  fear  and  trem- 
bhng.  Impressed  they  certainly  were.  Their 
applause  rose  in  a  gale  of  clappings  and  cries  and 
shouts.  They  were  impressed,  and  Private  'Enery 
Irving,  clapping  his  hands  sore  and  stamping 
his  feet  in  the  trench-bottom,  voiced  the  impression 
exactly.  '  It  beats  Saturday  night  in  the  gallery 
o'  the  old  Brit./  he  said  enthusiastically.  *  That 
bloke — bhmy — 'e  ought  to  be  doin'  the  star  part 
at  Drury  Lane ' ;  and  he  wiped  his  hot  hands 
on  his  trousers  and  fell  again  to  beating  them 
together,  palms  and  fingers  curved  cunningly, 
to  obtain  a  maximum  of  noise  from  the  effort. 

An  officer  passed  hurriedly  along  the  trench. 
'  If  there's  any  firing,  every  man  to  fire  over  the 
parapet  and  only  straight  to  his  own  front,'  he 
said,  and  almost  at  the  moment  there  came  a 
loud  *  bang '  from  out  in  front,  followed  quickly 
by  *  bang-bang-bang '  in  a  running  series  of 
reports. 

The  shouting  had  cut  o2  instantly  on  the  first 


A  HYMN  OF  HATE  201 

bang,  some  rifles  squibbed  off  at  intervals  for 
a  few  seconds  and  increased  suddenly  to  a  sput- 
tering roar.  With  the  exception  of  one  platoon 
near  their  centre  the  Towers  replied  rapidly  to 
the  fire,  the  maxims  joined  in,  and  a  minute 
later,  with  a  whoop  and  a  crash  the  shells  from 
a  British  battery  passed  over  the  trench  and 
burst  along  the  line  of  the  German  parapet. 
After  that  the  fire  died  away  gradually,  and 
about  ten  minutes  later  a  figure  scrambled  hastily 
over  the  parapet  and  dropped  into  safety,  his 
boots  squirting  water,  his  wet  shirt-tails  flapping 
about  his  bare  wet  and  muddy  legs.  He  was 
the  *  bomb  officer '  who  had  taken  advantage 
of  the  '  Hymn  of  Hate '  diversion  to  go  crawhng 
up  a  little  ditch  that  crossed  the  neutral  ground 
until  he  was  near  enough  to  fling  into  the  German 
trench  the  bombs  he  carried,  and,  as  he  put  it  later 
in  reporting  to  the  O.C.,  'give  'em  something  to 
hat6  about.' 

And  each  evening  after  that,  for  as  long  as 
they  were  in  the  trenches,  the  men  of  the  Tower 
Bridge  Foot  made  a  particular  point  of  singing 
the  '  Hymn  of  Hate,'  and  the  wild  yell  of  *  England  ' 
that  came  at  the  end  of  each  verse  might  almost 
have  pleased  any  enemy  of  England's  instead  of 


202  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

aggravating  them  intensely,  as  it  invariably  did 
the  Germans  opposite,  to  the  extent  of  many 
wasted  romids, 

'It's  been  a  great  do.  Snapper,'  said  Private 
'Enery  Irving  some  days  after,  as  the  battalion 
tramped  along  the  road  towards  *  reserve  billets.' 
'  An'  I  'aven't  enjoyed  myself  so  much  for 
months.  Didn't  it  rag  'em  beautiful,  an'  won't 
we  fair  stagger  the  'ouse  at  the  next  sing-sing 
o'  the  brigade  ?  ' 

Snapper  chuckled  and  breathed  contentedly 
into  his  beloved  mouth-organ,  and  first  'Enery 
and  then  the  marching  men  took  up  the  words : 

'Ite  of  the  'eart,  an'  'ite  of  the  'and, 
'Ite  by  water,  an'  'ite  by  land. 
'Oo  do  we  'ite  to  beat  the  band  ? 

(deficient  memories,  it  will  be  noticed,  being 
compensated  by  effective  inventions  in  odd 
lines). 

The  answering  roar  of  *  England  *  startled 
almost  to  shying  point  the  horse  of  a  brigadier 
trotting  up  to  the  tail  of  the  column. 

*  What  on  earth  are  those  fellows  singing  ?  * 
he  asked  one  of  his  officers  while  soothing  hia 
mount. 

*  I'm  not  sure,  sir,'  said  the  officer,   *  but  I 


A  HYMN  OF  HATE  203 

believe — by  the  words  of  it — yes,  it's  the  Germans' 
"  Hymn  of  Hate."  ' 

A  French  staff  officer  riding  with  the  brigadier 
stared  in  astonishment,  first  at  the  marching  men, 
and  then  at  the  brigadier,  who  was  rocking  with 
laughter  in  his  saddle. 

*  Where  on  earth  did  they  get  the  tune  ?  I've 
never  heard  it  before,'  said  the  brigadier,  and 
tried  to  hum  it.  The  staS  officer  told  him  some- 
thing of  the  tale  as  he  had  heard  it,  and  the  French- 
man's amazement  and  the  brigadier's  laughter 
grew  as  the  tale  was  told. 

We  'ave  one  foe,  an'  one  alone — England ! 

bellowed  the  Towers,  and  out  of  the  pause  that 
came  so  effectively  before  the  last  word  of  the 
verse  rose  a  triumphant  squeal  from  the  mouth- 
organ,  and  the  appealing  voice  of  Private  'Enery 
Irving — ^  Naw  then,  put  a  bit  of  'ate  into  it.' 
But  even  that  artist  of  the  emotions  had  to  admit 
his  critical  sense  of  the  dramatic  fully  satisfied 
by  the  tone  of  vociferous  wrath  and  hg,tred  flung 

into    the    Towers'    answering    roar    of    * 

England  ! ' 

*  What  an  extraordinary  people ! '  said  the 
French  staff  officer,  eyeing  the  brigadier  shaking 
with  laughter  on  his  prancing  charger.    And  he 


204  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

could  only  heave  his  shoulders  up  in  an-  ear- 
embracing  shrug  of  non-comprehension  when  the 
laughing  brigadier  tried  to  explain  to  him  (as  I 
explained  to  you  in  the  beginning) : 

*  And  the  best  bit  of  the  whole  joke  is  that 
this  particular  regiment  is  English  to  the  back- 
bone.' 


THE  COST 

*  The  cost  in  casualties  cannot  be  considered 
heavy  in  view  of  the  success  gained/ — Extract 
FROM  Official  Despatch. 

Outside  there  were  blazing  sunshine  and  heat, 
a  haze  of  smoke  and  dust,  a  nostril-stinging  reek 
of  cordite  and  explosive,  and  a  never-ceasing 
tumult  of  noises.  Inside  was  gloom,  but  a  closer, 
heavier  heat,  a  drug-shop  smell,  and  all  the  noises 
of  outside,  httle  subdued,  and  mingled  with  other 
lesser  but  closer  sounds.  Outside  a  bitterly  fought 
trench  battle  was  raging  ;  here,  inside,  the  wreckage 
of  battle  was  being  swiftly  but  skilfully  sorted 
out,  classified,  bound  up,  and  despatched  again 
into  the  outer  world.  For  this  was  one  of  the 
field  dressing  stations  scattered  behind  the  fringe 
of  the  fighting  fine,  and  through  one  or  other  of 
these  were  passing  the  casualties  as  quickly  as 
they  could  be  collected  and  brought  back  The 
station  had  been  a  field  labourer's  cottage,  and 

205 


206  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

had  been  roughly  adapted  to  its  present  use. 
The  interior  was  in  semi-darkness,  because  the 
windows  were  completely  blocked  up  with  sand- 
bags. The  door,  which  faced  towards  the  enemy^s 
hues,  was  also  sandbagged  up,  and  a  new  door  had 
been  made  by  knocking  out  an  opening  through 
the  mud-brick  wall.  There  were  two  rooms  con- 
nected by  a  door,  enlarged  again  by  the  tearing 
down  of  the  lath-and-plaster  partition.  The  only 
light  in  the  inner  room  filtered  through  the 
broken  and  displaced  tiles  of  the  roof.  On  the 
floor,  laid  out  in  rows  so  close  packed  that  there 
was  barely  room  for  an  orderly  to  move,  were 
queer  shapeless  bundles  that  at  first  glance  could 
hardly  be  recognised  as  men.  They  lay  huddled 
on  blankets  or  on  the  bare  floor  in  dim  shadowy 
lines  that  were  splashed  along  their  length  with 
irregularly  placed  gleaming  white  patches.  They 
were  puzzhng,  these  patches,  shining  Hke  snow 
left  in  the  hollows  of  a  mountain  seen  far  off  and 
in  the  dusk.  A  closer  look  revealed  them  as  the 
bandages  of  the  first  field  dressing  that  every 
man  carries  stitched  in  his  uniform  against  the 
day  he  or  the  stretcher-bearers  may  rip  open  the 
packet  to  use  it.  A  few  of  the  men  moved  rest- 
lessly, but  most  lay  very  still.     A  few  talked,  and 


THE  COST  207 

one  or  two  even  laughed ;  and  another  moaned 
slowly  and  at  even  unbroken  intervals.  Two 
or  three  lighted  cigarettes  pin-pricked  the  gloom 
in  specks  of  orange  light  that  rose  and  fell,  glowing 
and  sparkHng  and  Ughting  a  faint  outhne  of  nose 
and  lip  and  cheeks,  sinking  again  to  dull  red.  A 
voice  called,  feebly  at  first,  and  then,  as  no  one 
answered,  more  strongly  and  insistently,  for  water. 
When  at  last  it  was  brought,  every  other  man 
there  demanded  or  pleaded  for  a  drink. 

In  the  other  room  a  clean-edged  circle  of  Hght 
blazed  in  the  centre  from  an  acetylene  lamp, 
leaving  the  walls  and  corners  in  a  shadow  deep 
by  contrast  to  blackness.  Half  the  length  of  a 
rough  deal  table  jutted  out  of  the  darkness  into 
the  circle  of  hght,  and  beneath  it  its  black 
shadow  lay  sohd  half-way  across  the  hght  ring 
on  the  floor. 

And  into  this  light  passed  a  constant  pro- 
cession of  wounded,  some  halting  for  no  more 
than  the  brief  seconds  necessary  for  a  glance  at 
the  placing  of  a  bandage  and  an  injection  of  an 
anti-tetanus  serum,  some  waiting  for  long  pain- 
laden  minutes  while  a  bandage  was  stripped  off, 
an  examination  made,  in  certain  cases  a  rapid 
play  made  with  cruel-looking  scissors  and  knives. 


208  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

Sometimes  a  man  would  walk  to  the  table  and 
stoop  a  bandaged  head  or  thrust  a  bandaged 
hand  or  arm  into  the  light.  Or  a  stretcher  would 
appear  from  the  darkness  and  be  laid  under  the 
light,  while  the  doctors'  hands  busied  themselves 
about  the  khaki  form  that  lay  there.  Some  of 
the  wounds  were  shght,  some  were  awful  and 
unpleasant  beyond  telHng.  The  doctors  worked 
in  a  high  pressure  of  haste,  but  the  procession 
never  halted  for  an  instant ;  one  patient  was 
hardly  clear  of  the  Hght-circle  before  another 
appeared  in  it.  There  were  two  doctors  there — 
one  a  young  man  with  a  heutenant's  stars  on  his 
sleeve ;  the  other,  apparently  a  man  of  about 
thirty,  in  bare  arms  with  rolled-up  shirt-sleeves. 
His  jacket,  hooked  on  the  back  of  a  broken  chair, 
bore  the  badges  of  a  captain's  rank.  The  faces 
of  both  as  they  caught  the  hght  were  pale  and 
ghstening  with  sweat.  The  hands  of  both  as 
they  flitted  and  darted  about  bandages  or  torn 
flesh  were  swift  moving,  but  steady  and  unshaking 
as  steel  pieces  of  machinery.  Words  that  passed 
between  the  two  were  brief  to  curtness,  technical 
to  the  last  syllable.  About  them  the  dust  motes 
danced  in  the  light,  the  air  hung  heavy  and  stag- 
nant, smeUing  of  chemicals,  the  thick  sickly  scent 


THE  COST  209 

of  blood,  the  sharper  reek  of  sweat.  And  every- 
thing about  them,  the  roof  over  their  heads,  the 
walls  around,  the  table  under  their  hands,  the 
floor  beneath  their  feet,  shook  and  trembled  and 
quivered  without  cessation.  And  also  without 
pause  the  uproar  of  battle  bellowed  and  shrieked 
and  pounded  in  their  ears.  Shells  were  streaming 
overhead,  the  closer  ones  with  a  rush  and  a  whoop, 
the  higher  and  heavier  ones  with  long  whistling 
sighs  and  screams.  Shells  exploding  near  them 
crashed  thunderously  and  set  the  whole  building 
rocking  more  violently  than  ever.  The  rifle  and 
machine-gun  fire  never  ceased,  but  rose  and  fell, 
sinking  at  times  to  a  rapid  spluttering  crackle, 
rising  again  to  a  booming  d:  n-hke  roll.  The 
banging  reports  of  bombs  and  grenades  punctu- 
ated sharply  the  running  roar  of  gun  and  rifle 
fire. 

Through  all  the  whirlwind  of  noise  the  doctors 
worked  steadily.  Unheeding  the  noise,  the  dust, 
the  heat,  the  trembhng  of  the  crazy  building, 
they  worked  from  dawn  to  noon,  and  from  noon 
on  again  to  dusk,  only  pausing  for  a  few  minutes 
at  mid-day  to  swallow  beef-tea  and  a  biscuit, 
and  in  the  afternoon  to  drink  tepid  tea.  Early 
in  the  afternoon  a  hght  shell  struck  a  corner  of 


210  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

the  roof,  making  a  clean  hole  on  entry  and  blowing 
out  the  other  side  in  a  clattering  gust  of  flame 
and  smoke,  broken  tiles  and  sphntering  wood. 
The  room  filled  with  choking  smoke  and  dust 
and  bitter  bhnding  fumes,  and  a  shower  of  dirt 
and  fragments  rained  down  on  the  floor  and 
table,  on  the  doctors,  and  on  the  men  lying  round 
the  walls.  At  the  first  crash  and  clatter  some 
of  the  wounded  cried  out  sharply,  but  one 
amongst  them  chided  the  others,  asking  had 
they  never  heard  a  Fizz-Bang  before,  and  what 
would  the  Doctor  be  thinking  of  them  squeahng 
there  hke  a  lot  of  schoolgirls  at  a  mouse  in  the 
room  ?  But  later  in  the  day  there  was  a  worse 
outcry  and  a  worse  reason  for  it.  The  second 
room  was  being  emptied,  the  wounded  being 
carried  out  to  the  ambulances  that  awaited  them 
close  by  outside.  There  came  suddenly  out  of 
the  surrounding  din  of  battle  four  quick  ear-filhng 
rushes  of  sound — sh-sh-sh-shoosh — ba-ba-ba-bang  ! 
The  shells  had  passed  over  no  more  than 
clear  of  the  cottage,  and  burst  in  the  air  just 
beyond,  and  for  an  instant  the  stretcher-bearers 
halted  hesitatingly  and  the  wounded  shrank  on 
their  stretchers.  But  next  instant  the  work  was 
resumed,  and  was  in  full  swing  when  a  minute 


THE  COST  211 

later  there  came  again  the  four  wind-rushes, 
followed  this  time  by  four  shattering  crashes, 
an  appalling  clatter  of  whirhng  tiles  and  brick- 
work. The  cottage  disappeared  in  swirhng  clouds 
of  smoke  and  brick-dust,  and  out  of  the  turmoil 
came  shrieks  and  cries  and  groans.  AVhen  the 
dust  had  cleared  it  showed  one  end  of  the  cottage 
completely  wrecked,  the  roof  gone,  the  walls 
gaping  in  ragged  rents,  the  end  wall  collapsed 
in  jumbled  ruins.  Inside  the  room  was  no  more 
than  a  shambles.  There  were  twenty  odd  men 
in  it  when  the  shells  struck.  Seven  were  carried 
out  ahve,  and  four  of  these  died  in  the  moving. 
In  the  other  room,  where  the  two  doctors  worked, 
no  damage  was  done  beyond  the  breakdown 
of  a  portion  of  the  partition  wall,  and  there  was 
only  one  further  casualty — a  man  who  was 
actually  having  a  shght  hand- wound  examined 
at  the  moment.  He  was  killed  instantly  by  a 
shell  fragment  which  whizzed  through  the  door- 
way. The  two  doctors,  after  a  first  hasty  exami- 
nation of  the  new  casualties,  held  a  hurried  con- 
sultation. The  obvious  thing  to  do  was  to  move, 
but  the  question  was,  Where  to  ?  One  place 
after  another  was  suggested,  only  for  the  sugges- 
tion to  be  dismissed  for  some  good  and  adequate 


212  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

reason.  In  the  middle  of  the  discussion  a  fresh 
torrent  of  casualties  began  to  pour  in.  Some 
plainly  required  immediate  attention,  and  the 
doctors  fell  to  work  again.  By  the  time  the 
rush  was  cleared  the  question  of  changing  position 
had  been  forgotten,  or,  at  any  rate,  was  dropped. 
The  wounded  continued  to  arrive,  and  the  doctors 
continued  to  work. 

By  now,  late  afternoon,  the  fortunes  of  the 
fight  were  plainly  turning  in  favour  of  the  British. 
It  was  extraordinary  the  difference  it  made  in 
the  whole  atmosphere — to  the  doctors,  the  order- 
lies, the  stretcher-bearers,  and  even — or,  rather, 
most  of  all — to  the  wounded  who  were  coming 
in.  In  the  morning  the  British  attack  had  been 
stubbornly  withstood,  and  thousands  of  men  had 
fallen  in  the  first  rushes  to  gain  a  footing  in 
the  trenches  opposite.  The  wounded  who  were 
first  brought  in  were  the  men  who  had  fallen  in 
these  rushes,  in  the  forward  trench,  in  the  com- 
munication trenches  on  their  way  up  from  the 
support  trench,  and  from  the  shell  fire  on  the 
support  trenches.  Because  they  themselves  had 
made  no  advance,  or  had  seen  no  advance  made, 
they  believed  the  attack  was  a  failure,  that  thou- 
sands of  men  had  fallen  and  no  ground  had  been 


THE  COST  213 

gained.  The  stretcher-bearers  who  brought  them 
in  had  a  similar  tale  to  tell,  and  everyone  looked 
glum  and  pulled  a  long  face.  About  noon,  al- 
though the  advance  on  that  particular  portion  was 
still  hung  up,  a  report  ran  that  success  had 
been  attained  elsewhere  along  the  line.  In  the 
early  afternoon  the  guns  behind  burst  out  in  a 
fresh  paroxysm  of  fury,  and  the  shells  poured 
streaming  overhead  and  drenched  the  enemy 
trenches  ahead  with  a  new  and  greater  deluge  of 
fire.  The  rifle  fixe  and  the  bursting  reports  of 
bombs  swelled  suddenly  to  the  fullest  note  yet 
attained.  All  these  things  were  hardly  noted, 
or  at  most  were  heeded  with  a  half-attention,  back 
in  the  dressing  station,  but  it  was  not  long  before 
the  fruits  of  the  renewed  activity  began  to  filter 
and  then  to  flood  back  to  the  doctor's  hands. 
But  now  a  new  and  more  encouraging  tale  came 
with  them.  We  were  winning  ...  we  were  ad- 
vancing ...  we  were  into  their  trenches  all 
along  the  line.  The  casualties  bore  their  wounds 
to  the  station  with  absolute  cheerfulness.  This 
one  had  *  got  it '  in  the  second  line  of  trenches ; 
that  one  had  seen  the  attack  launched  on  the 
third  trench ;  another  had  heard  we  had  taken 
the  third  in  our  stride  and  were  pushing  on  hard. 


214  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

The  regiment  had  had  a  hammering,  but  they 
were  going  good  ;  the  battalion  had  lost  the  O.C. 
and  a  heap  of  officers,  but  they  were  '  in  wi'  the 
bayonet '  at  last.  So  the  story  ran  for  a  full  two 
hours.  It  was  borne  back  by  men  with  limbs  and 
bodies  hacked  and  broken  and  battered,  but  with 
lips  smiling  and  babbUng  words  of  triumph.  There 
were  some  who  would  never  walk,  would  never 
stand  upright  again,  who  had  nothing  before  them 
but  the  grim  life  of  a  helpless  cripple.  There 
were  others  who  could  hardly  hope  to  see  the 
morrow's  sun  rise,  and  others  again  grey-faced 
with  pain  and  with  white-knuckled  hands  clenched 
to  the  stretcher-edges.  But  all,  shghtly  wounded, 
or  *  serious,'  or  *  dangerous,'  seemed  to  have 
forgotten  their  own  bitter  lot,  to  have  no  thought 
but  to  bear  back  the  good  word  that  '  we're 
winning.' 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  weary  doctors  sensed 
a  slackening  in  the  flowing  tide  of  casualties. 
They  were  still  coming  in,  being  attended  to 
and  passed  out  in  a  steady  stream,  but  somehow 
there  seemed  less  rush,  less  urgency,  less  haste. 
on  the  part  of  the  bearers  to  be  back  for  a  fresh 
load.  And — ominous  sign — ^there  were  many  more 
of  the  bearers  themselves  coming  back  as  casualties. 


THE  COST  215 

The  reason  for  these  things  took  httle  finding. 
The  fighting  line  was  now  well  advanced,  and 
every  yard  of  advance  meant  additional  time  and 
risk  in  the  bearing  back  of  the  wounded. 

One  of  the  regimental  stretcher-bearers  put 
the  facts  bluntly  and  briefly  to  the  doctors : 
'  The  open  ground  an'  the  commum'cation  trenches 
is  fair  hummin'  wi*  shells  an'  bullets.  "We're 
just  about  losin'  two  bearers  for  every  one  casualty 
we  bring  out.  Now  we're  leavin'  'em  He  there 
snug  as  we  can  till  dark.' 

A  chaplain  came  in  and  asked  permission  to 
stay  there.  *  One  of  my  regiments  has  gone  up, 
he  said,  *  and  they'U  bring  the  casualties  in  here. 
I  won't  get  in  your  way,  and  I  may  be  able  to 
help  a  httle.     Here  is  one  of  my  men  now.' 

A  stretcher  was  carried  in  and  laid  with  its 
burden  under  the  doctor's  hands.  The  man  was 
covered  with  wounds  from  head  to  foot.  He 
lay  still  while  the  doctors  cut  the  clothing  ofi 
him  and  adjusted  bandages,  but  just  before  they 
gave  him  morphia  he  spoke.  *  Don't  let  me  die, 
doctor,'  he  said ;  *  for  Christ's  sake,  don't  let  me 
die.  Don't  say  I'm  going  to  die.'  His  eye  met 
the  chaplain's,  and  the  grey  head  stooped  near 
to  the  young  one.     *  I'm  the  only  one  left,  padre,' 


216  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

he  said.  *  My  old  mother.  .  .  .  Don't  let  me 
die,  padre.  You  know  how — it  is,  back  home. 
Don't — let  me — die — ^too.' 

But  the  lad  was  past  saving.  He  died  there 
on  the  table  under  their  hands. 

*  God  help  his  mother ! '  said  the  chaplain 
softly.  *  It  was  her  the  boy  was  thinking  of — 
not  himself.  His  father  was  killed  yesterday- — 
old  Jim  Doherty,  twenty-three  years'  service ; 
batman  to  the  O.C.  ;  would  come  out  again  with 
young  Jim  and  Walt.  Been  with  the  Regiment 
all  his  Hfe ;  and  the  Regiment  has  taken  him 
and  his  two  boys,  and  left  the  mother  to  her  old 
age  without  husband  or  chick  or  child.' 

The  two  doctors  were  Hghting  cigarettes  and 
inhahng  the  smoke  deeply,  with  the  enjoyment 
that  comes  after  hours  without  tobacco. 

Another  man  was  borne  in.  He  was  grimed 
with  dust  and  dirt,  and  smeared  with  blood. 
The  sweats  of  agony  beaded  his  forehead,  but  he 
grinned  a  twisted  grin  at  the  doctors  and  chaplain. 
*  An'  'ere  we  are  again,  as  the  song  says,'  he  said, 
as  the  stretcher  was  laid  down.  '  This  makes 
the  third  time  wounded  in  this  war — ^twice  'ome 
an'  out  again.  But  this  is  hke  to  be  the  last  trip 
I'm   thinkin'.     Wot    about    it,    sir?     Will    I    be 


THE  COST  217 

losin'  'em  both  ?  '  And  he  looked  down  at  his 
smashed  legs.  *  Ah,  I  thought  so/  he  went  on. 
'  I'm  a  market  gardener,  but  I  dunno  'ow  I'm 
goin'  to  market-garden  without  legs.  Four  kids 
too,  the  eldest  six  years,  an'  an  aihn'  wife.  But 
she'll  'ave  me,  or  wot's  left  o'  me ;  an'  that's 
more'n  a  many '11  'ave.' 

'  That'll  be  all  right,  my  lad,'  said  the  chaplain. 
*  You'll  have  a  pension.  The  country  will  look 
after  you.' 

'  Ah,  padre — I  didn't  see  you,  sir.  The 
country  ?  Arst  my  brother  Joe  about  the 
country.  Wounded  in  South  Africa  'e  was,  an' 
never  done  a  day's  work  since.  An'  the  pension 
'as  been  barely  enough  to  starve  on  decently. 
It'll  be  the  same  again  arter  all  this  is  over  I 
don't  doubt.  Any'ow  that's  'ow  we  all  feels  about 
it.  No,  sir,  I  don't  feel  no  great  pain  to  speak 
of.     Sort  of  numb-hke  below  there  just.' 

He  went  on  talking  quite  rationally  and  com- 
posedly until  he  was  taken  away. 

After  that  there  was  another  pause,  and  the 
ambulances,  for  the  first  time  that  day,  were 
able  to  get  the  station  cleared  before  a  fresh  lot 
came  in.  The  dusk  was  closing  in,  but  there  was 
still  no  abatement  of  the  sounds  of  battle. 


218  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

*  There  must  be  crowds  of  men  lying  out  in 
front  there  wanting  attention/  said  the  captain, 
reaching  for  his  coat  and  putting  it  on  quietly. 

*  You  might  stay  here,  Dewar,  and  I'll  have  a 
look  out  and  see  if  there*s  a  chance  of  getting 
forward  to  give  a  hand.* 

The  other  doctor  offered  to  go  if  the  other 
would  wait,  but  his  offer  was  quietly  put  aside. 

*  I'll  get  back  in  an  hour  or  two,'  the  captain 
said,  and  went  off.  Dewar  and  the  chaplain 
stood  in  the  door  and  watched  him  go.  A  couple 
of  heavy  shells  crashed  down  on  the  parapet 
of  the  communication  trench  he  was  moving 
towards,  and  for  a  minute  his  figure  was  hidden 
by  the  swirhng  black  smoke  and  yellow  dust. 
But  they  saw  him  a  moment  later  as  he  reached 
the  trench,  turned  and  waved  a  hand  to  them, 
and  disappeared. 

*  His  name's  Macgillivray,'  said  the  doctor, 
in  answer  to  a  question  from  the  chaplain.  *  One 
of  the  finest  fellows  I've  ever  met,  and  one  of 
the  cleverest  surgeons  in  Great  Britain.  He  is 
recognised  as  one  of  the  best  already,  and  he's 
only  beginning.  Did  you  notice  him  at  work  ? 
The  most  perfect  hands,  and  an  eye  as  quick  and 
keen    as    an    eagle's.     He    misses    ^lothing — ^sees 


THE  COST  219 

little  things  in  a  flash  where  twenty  men  might 
pass  them.    He's  a  wonder.* 

And  Macgillivray  was  moving  slowly  along 
the  communication  trench  that  led  to  the  forward 
fire  trench.  It  was  a  dangerous  passage,  because 
the  enemy's  guns  had  the  position  and  range 
exactly  and  were  keeping  a  constant  fire  on  the 
trench,  knowing  the  probability  of  the  supports 
using  it.  In  fact  the  supports  moving  up  had 
actually  abandoned  the  use  of  the  approach 
trenches  and  were  hurrying  across  the  open  for 
the  most  part.  Macgillivray,  reluctant  at  first 
to  abandon  the  cover  of  the  trench,  was  driven 
at  last  to  doing  so  by  a  fact  forced  upon  him  at 
every  step  that  the  place  was  a  regular  shell-trap. 
Sections  of  it  were  blown  to  shapeless  ruins,  and 
pits  and  mounds  of  earth  and  the  deep  shell- 
craters  gaped  in  it  and  to  either  side  for  all  its 
length.  Even  where  the  high-explosive  shells  had 
not  fallen  the  shrapnel  had  swept  and  the  clouds 
of  flies  that  swarmed  at  every  step  told  of  the 
blood-soaked  ground,  even  where  the  torn  frag- 
ments of  limbs  and  bodies  had  not  been  left,  as 
they  were  in  many  places. 

So  Macgillivray  left  the  trench  and  scurried 
across  the  open  with  buUets  hissing  and  buzzing 


220  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

about  his  ears  and  shells  roaring  overhead.  He 
reached  the  forward  fire  trench  at  last  and  halted 
there  to  recover  his  breath.  The  battered  trench 
was  filled  with  the  men  who  had  been  moved  up  in 
support,  and  there  were  many  wounded  amongst 
them.  He  busied  himself  for  half  an  hour  amongst 
them,  and  then  prepared  to  move  on  across  the 
open  to  what  had  been  the  enemy's  front-hne 
trench.  It  was  dusk  now  and  shadowy  figures 
could  be  seen  coming  back  towards  the  British 
lines.  At  one  point,  a  dip  in  the  ground  and  an 
old  ditch  gave  some  cover  from  the  flying  bullets. 
Towards  this  point  along  what  had  been  the  face 
and  was  now  the  back  of  the  enemy  front  trench, 
and  then  in  along  the  line  of  the  hollow,  a  con- 
stant procession  of  wounded  moved  slowly.  It 
was  easy  to  distinguish  them,  and  even  to  pick 
out  in  most  cases  where  they  were  wounded, 
because  in  the  dusk  the  bandages  of  the  first 
field  dressing  showed  up  startlingly  white  and  clear 
on  the  shadowy  forms  against  the  shadowy  back- 
ground. Some,  with  the  white  patches  on  heads, 
arms,  hands,  and  upper  bodies,  were  walking ; 
others,  with  the  white  on  feet  and  legs,  limped 
and  hobbled  painfully,  leaning  on  the  parapet  or 
using  their  rifles  crutch- wise ;    and  others  lay  on 


THE  COST  221 

the  stretchers  that  moved  with  desperate  slowness 
towards  safety.  The  line  appeared  unending ; 
the  dim  figures  could  be  seen  trickling  along  the 
parapets  as  far  as  the  eye  could  distinguish  them  ; 
the  white  dots  of  the  bandages  were  visible  moving 
as  far  along  the  parapet  as  the  sight  could  reach. 
Macgilhvray  moved  out  from  the  broken  trench 
and  hurried  across  the  open.  There  were  not 
more  than  fifty  yards  to  cross,  but  in  that  narrow 
space  the  bodies  lay  huddled  singly  and  heaped 
in  little  clumps.  They  reminded  one  exactly 
of  the  loafers  who  sprawl  asleep  and  sunning 
themselves  in  the  Park  on  a  Sunday  afternoon. 
Only  the  dead  lay  in  that  narrow  strip  ;  the  Hving 
had  been  moved  or  had  moved  themselves  long 
since.  Macgillivray  pushed  on  into  the  trench, 
along  it  to  a  communication  trench,  and  up  and 
down  one  alley  after  another,  until  he  reached 
the  most  advanced  trench  which  the  British  held. 
Here  a  pandemonium  of  fighting  was  still  in 
progress,  but  to  this  Macgilhvray  after  the  first 
couple  of  minutes  paid  no  heed.  A  private  with 
a  bullet  through  his  throat  staggered  back  from 
his  loophole  and  collapsed  in  the  doctor's  arms ; 
and  after  that  Macgilhvray  had  his  hands  too  full 
with  casualties  to  concern  himself  with  the  fighting. 


222  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

Several  dug-outs  had  been  filled  with  wounded, 
and  the  doctor  crawled  about  amongst  these  and 
along  the  trench,  applying  dressings  and  bandages 
as  fast  as  he  could  work,  seeing  the  men  placed 
on  stretchers  or  sent  back  as  quickly  as  possible 
towards  the  rear.  He  stayed  there  until  a  message 
reached  him  by  one  of  the  stretcher-bearers  who 
had  been  back  to  the  dressing  station  that  he  was 
badly  needed  there,  and  that  Mr.  Dewar  hoped 
he  would  get  back  soon  to  help  them. 

Certainly  the  dressing  station  was  having  a 
busy  time.  The  darkness  had  made  it  possible 
to  get  back  hundreds  of  casualties  from  places 
whence  they  dare  not  be  moved  by  day.  They 
were  pouring  into  the  station  through  the  doctors* 
hands — three  of  them  were  hard  at  work  there  by 
this  time^-and  out  again  to  the  ambulances  as 
rapidly  as  they  could  be  handled.  Despite  the 
open,  shell-wrecked  end  and  the  broken  roof,  the 
cottage  was  stiflingly  close  and  sultry,  the  heavy 
scent  of  blood  hung  sickeningly  in  the  stagnant 
air,  and  the  whole  place  swarmed  with  pestering 
flies.  There  was  no  time  to  do  much  for  the 
patients.  All  had  been  more  or  less  efficiently 
bandaged  by  the  regimental  stretcher-bearers  who 
picked  them  up.     The  doctors  did  httle  more  than 


THE  COST  223 

examine  the  bandagings,  loosening  these  and 
tightening  those,  making  injections  to  ward  off 
tetanus,  performing  an  operation  or  an  amputation 
now  and  again  in  urgent  cases,  sorting  out  occasion- 
ally a  hopeless  casualty  where  a  wound  was  plainly 
mortal,  and  setting  him  aside  to  leave  room  in 
the  ambulances  for  those  the  hospitals  below  might 
yet  save. 

One  of  these  mortal  cases  was  a  young  lieutenant. 
He  knew  himself  that  there  was  Httle  or  no  hope 
for  him,  but  he  smoked  a  cigarette  and  spoke 
with  composure,  or  simulated  composure,  to  the 
doctor  and  the  chaplain. 

*  Hello,  padre,'  he  said,  *  looks  Hke  a  wash-out 
for  me  this  time.  You'll  have  to  break  it  to  the 
pater,  you  know.  Afraid  he'll  take  it  rather 
hard  too.  Rough  luck,  isn't  it,  doc.  ?  But  then 
.  .  .'  His  face  twitched  with  pain,  but  he  covered 
the  break  in  his  voice  by  blowing  a  long  cloud 
of  smoke.  * .  .  .  After  all,  it's  all  in  the  game, 
y'  know.'  '  All  in  the  game,'  the  chaplain  said 
when  he  had  gone  ;  *  a  cruel  game,  but  gallantly 
played  out.  And  he's  the  fourth  son  to  go  in  this 
war — and  the  last  male  of  his  Hue  except  his  father, 
the  old  earl.  A  family  that  has  made  its  mark 
on  a  good  few  history  pages — and  this  is  the  end 


224  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

of  it.  You  think  it's  quite  hopeless  for  him, 
doctor  ? ' 

The   doctor  looked  up  in  surprise  from  the 
fresh  sHghtly  wounded  case  he  was  overhauhng. 

•  Hopeless  ?    Why,  it's  not  even Oh  !   him  ? 

Yes,  Tm  afraid  so  ...  I  wish  MacgilHvray  would 
come  back,'  he  went  on  irritably.  '  He's  worth 
the  three  of  us  here  put  together.  Where  we  have 
to  fiddle  and  probe  and  peer  he  would  just  look — 
just  half-shut  those  hawk  eyes  of  his  and  look, 
and  he'd  know  exactly  what  to  do  and  what  not 
to  do.  .  .  .  That'll  do,  sergeant ;  take  him  off. 
.  .  .  Where's  that  bottle  of  mine  ?  What's  this  ? 
Hand  ?  Bandage  not  hurting  you  ?  All  right. 
Pass  him  over  there  for  the  anti-tetanus.  Now, 
then!  ,  .  .* 

A  burly  private,  with  the  flesh  of  his  thigh 
showing  clear  white  where  the  grimy  khaki  had 
been  cut  clear  and  hung  flapping,  hmped  in  and 
pushed  forward  a  neatly  bandaged  Hmb  for  inspec- 
tion. *  A  doctor  did  that  up  in  the  trenches,' 
he  remarked.  *  Said  to  tell  you  'e  did  it  an'  it 
was  all  right,  an'  I  only  needed  the  anti-tempus 
an'  a  ticket  for  'ome.' 

*  That's  MacgilHvray,  I'll  bet,'  said  young 
Dewar.     *  Where  was  this  ?  * 


THE  COST  225 

*  Fourth  German  trench,  sir/  said  the  man 
cheerfully.  *  You  know  we  got  four  ?  Four 
trenches  took !  We're  win n in'  this  time  orright. 
Fairly  got  'em  goin',  I  b'Heve.  It'll  be  Glorious 
Vict'ry  in  the  'eadHnes  to-morrow.' 

*  Things  hke  this,  you  know,  must  be,'  quoted 
the  chaplain  softly,  as  another  badly  wounded 
map.  was  brought  in.  *  I  wonder  what  the  victory 
is  costing  us  ? ' 

*  Never  mind.  It's  costing  t'other  side  more, 
sir,*  said  the  casualty  grimly,  and  then  shut  lips 
and  teeth  tight  on  the  agony  that  followed. 

*  I  wish  MacgilHvray  would  come,'  said  Dewar 
when  that  was  finished.  *  He  could  have  done  it 
so  much  better.  It's  just  the  sort  of  case  he's 
at  his  best  on — and  his  best  is  something  the 
medical  journals  write  columns  about.  I  wish 
he'd  come.' 

And  then,  soon  after,  he  did  come — came 
on  a  stretcher  with  a  bandage  about  his  head  and 
over  his  eyes.  *  MacgiUivray  ! '  cried  the  young 
doctor,  and  stood  a  moment  staring,  with  his 
jaw  dropped. 

'  Yes,'  said  MacgilHvray  with  lips  tight  drawn. 
*  It's  me.  That's  Dewar,  isn't  it  ?  No  need  to 
undo  the  bandage,  Dewar.     It's   my  eyes — both 


226  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

gone — a  bullet  through  them  both.  And  I*U 
never  hold  a  scalpel  again.  You  can  give  me 
some  morphia,  Dewar — ^and  send  me  on  to  the 
ambulance  out  of  the  way.  I'm  no  good  here 
now — or  anywhere  else,  now  or  ever.  I  won't 
die,  I  know,  but * 

They  gave  him  the  morphia,  and  before 
he  sUd  ofi  into  unconsciousness  he  spoke  a  last 
word  to  the  chaplain :  *  You  were  right,  padre. 
You  remember  .  .  .  it's  the  women  pay  the 
hardest.  .  .  .  I'm  thinking  ...  of  .  .  .  my 
wife.' 

The  chaplain's  thoughts  went  back  to  the  wife 
and  mother  of  the  Dohertys,  to  the  legless  market- 
gardener  and  his  aiUng  wife,  to  the  boy  heutenant 
who  was  the  last  of  his  hne,  and  a  score  more  he 
knew,  and  his  eyes  followed  as  the  stretcher  bore 
out  the  hulk  that  had  been  a  man  who  had  done 
much  to  reheve  pain  and  might  have  done  so  much 
more. 

The  voice  of  another  new-arriving  casualty 
broke  his  thoughts.  *  We're  winnin',  doctor,' 
it  was  saying  exultantly.  *  All  along  the  hne 
we're  winnin'  this  time.  The  Jocks  has  got  right 
away  for'ard,  an'  the  Ghurkies  is  in  wid  their 
killin'  knives  on  our  left.     An'  the  Irish  is  in  front 


THE  COST  227 

av  all.  Glory  be !  'Tis  a  big  foight  this  time, 
an'  it's  winnin'  we  are.  Me  good  arm's  gone  I 
know,  but  I'd  rather  be  here  wid  wan  arm  than 
annywhere  else  wid  two.  An'  what's  an  arm  or  a 
man  more  or  less  in  the  world  ?  We're  winnin', 
I  tell  ye — we're  winnin' !  * 


A  SMOKER'S  COMPANION 

Except  for  the  address,  *  No.  1,  Park-lane/ 
marked  with  a  muddy  forefinger  on  the  hanging 
waterproof  sheet  which  served  as  a  door,  there 
was  nothing  pretentious  about  the  erection — it 
could  not  be  called  a  building — ^which  was  for  the 
time  being  the  residence  of  three  drivers  of  the 
Royal  Field  Artillery.  But  the  shelter,  ingeniously 
constructed  of  hop-poles  and  straw  thatch,  was 
more  or  less  rain-proof,  and  had  the  advantage 
of  being  so  close  to  the  horse-Hnes  that  half  a 
dozen  strides  brought  the  drivers  alongside  their 
*  long-nosed  chums.'  It  was  early  evening ;  but 
the  horses  having  been  watered  and  fed,  the 
labours  of  their  day  were  over,  and  the  Wheel 
and  Lead  Drivers  were  luxuriating  in  bootless  feet 
while  they  entertained  the  Gunner  who  had  called 
in  from  his  own  billet  in  the  farm's  barn. 

The  Gunner  was  holding  forth  on  Tobacco  Gifts. 

*  It's  hke  this,  see,'  he  said.  *  An'  I  knows 
it's  so  'cos  I  read  it  myself  in  the  paper.    First 

228 


A  SMOKER'S  COMPANION  229 

you  cuts  a  coo-pon  out  o'  the  paper  wi'  your  name 
an^  address  on  it.  .  .  .' 

*  But,  'ere,  'old  on,'  put  in  the  "Wheel  Driver. 
*  'Ow  does  my  name  get  on  it  ? ' 

*  You  write  it  there,  fat'ead.  Didjer  think  it 
growed  there  ?  You  writes^^  your  name  same  as 
the  paper  tells,  see ;  an'  you  cuts  out  the 
coo-pon  an'  you  sends  sixpence  for  one  packet 
o'  'baccy.  .  .  .' 

'  Wot  sorter  yarn  you  givin'  us  now  ? '  said 
the  Wheel  Driver.  *  I  didn't  send  no  sixpence, 
or  cut  out  a  cow-pen.  I  gets  this  'baccy  for 
nothin'.     The  Quarter  tole  me  so.' 

*  Course  you  gets  it,'  said  the  Gunner  im- 
patiently. '  But  somebody  must  'a'  paid  the  six- 
pence. .  .  .' 

*  You  said  I  paid  it — an'  I  never  did,'  retorted 
the  Wheel  Driver. 

'  'E  means,'  explained  the  Lead  Driver,  '  if 
you  was  sendin'  a  packet  of  'baccy  you'd  send 
sixpence.' 

'  Where's  the  sense  in  that  ? '  said  the  Wheel 
Driver.  *  Why  should  I  sen'  sixpence  when  I 
can  get  this  '  baccy  for  nothin'  ?  I  got  this  for 
nothin'.  It's  not  a  issue  neither.  It's  a  Gif. 
Quartermaster  tole  me  so.' 


230  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

*  We  know  that,'  said  the  Gunner ;  *  but  if 
you  wanted  to  you  could  send  sixpence.  .  .  .' 

'  I  could  not,'  said  the  Wheel  Driver  em- 
phatically. *  I  'aven't  seed  a  sixpence  since  we 
lef  'ome.  They  even  pays  us  in  bloomin'  French 
bank  notes.  An'  how  I'm  goin'  to  tell,  after 
this  war's  over,  whether  my  pay's  in  credit ' 

*  Oh,  shut  it ! '  interrupted  the  Lead  Driver. 
*  Let's  'ear  'ow  this  Gift  thing's  worked.  Go 
on,  chum.' 

*  It's  this  way,  see,'  the  Gunner  took  up  his 
tale  anew.  *  S'pose  you  wants  to  send  a  gift 
...  or  mebbe  you'll  unnerstan'  this  way  better. 
S'pose  your  best  gel  wants  to  sen'  you  a  gift.  .  .  .' 

'  I  ain't  got  no  bes'  gel,'  objected  the  Wheel 
Driver.  'I'm  a  married  man,  an'  you  knows 
it  too.' 

The  Gunner  took  a  deep  breath  and  looked 
hard  at  the  objector.  *  Well,'  he  said,  with 
studied  calm,  *  we'U  s'pose  your  missis  at  'ome 
there  wants  to  sen'  you  out  some  smokes.  .  .  .' 

'  An  s'pose  she  does  want  to  ?  '  said  the  Wheel 
Driver  truculently.  '  Wot's  it  got  to  do  wi' 
you,  anyway  ? ' 

With  hps  pursed  tight  and  in  stony  silence 
the  Gunner  glared  at  him,  and  then,  turning  his 


A  SMOKER'S  COMPANION  231 

shoulder,   addressed   himself   deliberately   to   the 
Lead  Driver. 

'  S'pose  your  missis  .  .  .'  he  began,  but  got 
no  further. 

*  He  ain't  got  no  missis ;  leastways,  'e  ain't 
supposed  to  'ave,'  the  Wheel  Driver  interjected 
triumphantly. 

That  fact  was  well  known  to  the  Gunner, 
but  had  been  forgotten  by  him  in  the  stress  of 
the  moment.  He  ignored  the  interruption,  and 
proceeded  smoothly.  *  S'pose  your  missis,  if  you 
'ad  one,  w'ich  you  'aven't,  as  I  well  knows,  seein' 
me  'n'  you  walked  out  two  sisters  at  Woolwich 
up  to  the  larst  night  we  was  there.  .  •  .' 

The  Wheel  Driver  chuckled. 

*  Thought  you  was  on  guard  the  las'  night 
we  was  in  Woolwich,'  he  said. 

*  Will  you  shut  youi  'ead  an'  speak  when 
you're  spoke  to  ? '  said  the  Gunner  angrily. 

*  Never  mind  'im,  chum.  Wot  about  this 
Gif  business  ? ' 

*Well,'  said  the  Gunner,  picking  his  words 
carefully.  'If  a  man's  wife  or  gel  or  sister  or 
friend  wants  to  send  'im  some  smokes  they  cuts 
this  coo-pon,  same's  I've  said,  an'  sends  it  up 
to   the   paper,    wi'   sixpence   an'   the   reg'mental 


232  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

number  an'  name  of  the  man  tKe  gift's  to  go  to. 
An'. the  paper  buys  the  'baccy,  gettin'  it  cheap 
becos  o'  bujrin'  tons  an'  tons,  an'  sends  a  packet 
out  wi  the  chap's  number  an'  name  and  reg'ment 
wrote  on  it.    So  'e  gets  it.    An'  that's  all.' 

The  Wheel  Drivier  could  contain  himself  no 
longer.  *  An'  how  d'you  reckon  I  got  this  packet,  an' 
no  name  or  number  on  it — 'cept  a  pos'card  wi'  a 
name  an'  address  wrote  on  as  I  never  'card  before  ?' 

*  Becos  some  good-'earted  bloke  in  Bhghty  i 
that  doesn't  'ave  no  pal  particular  out  'ere  asks 
the  paper  to  send  'is  packet  o'  'baccy  to  the  O.C. 
to  pass  on  to  some  pore  'ard-up  orphin  Tommy 
that  ain't  got  no  'baccy  nor  no  fren's  to  send  'im 
like,  an'  'e  issues  it  to  you.' 

*  It  ain^t  a  issue/  persisted  the  Wheel  Driver. 
•  It's  a  Gii\     The  Quarter  sed  so  'isself.' 

Splashing  and  squelching  footsteps  were  heard 
outside,  the  door-curtain  swung  aside,  and  the  Centre 
Driver  ducked  in,  took  oS  a  soaking  cap,  and 
jerked  a  glistening  spray  ofi  it  into  the  darkness. 

*  Another  fair  soor  of  a  night,*  he  remarked 
cheerfully,  shpping  out  of  his  mackintosh  and  hang- 
ing the  streaming  garment  in  the  door.  *  Bust 
me  if  I  know  where  all  the  rain  comes  from.* 

*  Englaad. 


A  SMOKER'S  COMPANION  233 

'  Any  luck  ? '  asked  the  Lead  Driver,  leaning 
over  to  rearrange  the  strip  of  cloth  which,  stuck 
in  a  jam- tin  of  fat,  provided  what — with  some 
imagination — might  be  called  a  hght. 

*  Five  packets — ^twenty-five  fags,'  said  the 
Centre  Driver.  *  There  was  two  or  three  wantin* 
to  swap  the  'baccy  in  their  packets  for  the  fags 
in  the  other  chaps',  so  I  done  pretty  well  to  get 
five  packets  for  mine.' 

*  'Twould  'a'  paid  you  better  to  'ave  kep* 
your  'baccy  and  made  fags  out  o'  it  wi'  cig'rette 
papers,'  said  the  Wheel  Driver. 

*  Mebbe,'  agreed  the  Centre  Driver.  *  An' 
p'raps  you'll  tell  me — not  being  a  Maskelyne  an' 
Cook  conjurer  meself — 'ow  I'm  to  produce  the 
fag-papers.' 

The  Gunner  chuckled  softly. 

*  You  should  'a'  done  like  old  Pint-o'-Bass 
did,  time  we  was  on  the  Aisne,'  he  said.  *  Bass 
is  one  of  them  fag-fiends  that  can't  live  without 
a  cigarette,  and  wouldn't  die  happy  if  he  wasn't 
smokin'  one.  'E  breathes  more  smoke  than  'e 
does  air,  an'  'e  ought  to  'ave  a  permanent  chim- 
ney-sweep detailed  to  clear  the  soot  out  of  'is 
lungs  an'  breathin'  toobs.  But  if  Pint-o'-Bass 
does  smoke  more'n  is  good  for  'im  or  any  other 


234  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

respectable  factory  chimney,  I'll  admit  the  smoke 
'asn't  sooted  up  'is  intelleck  none,  an'  *e  can  wriggle, 
'is  way  out  of  a  hole  where  a  double- jointed 
snake  'ud  stick.  An'  durin'  the  Retreat,  when, 
as  you  knows,  cigarettes  in  the  Expeditionary 
Force  was  scarcer 'n  snowballs  in  'ell,  ole  Pint 
o'-Bass  managed  to  carry  on,  an'  wasn't  never 
seen  without  'is  fag,  excep'  at  meal-times,  an' 
sleep- times,  an'  they  bein'  so  infrequent  an' 
sketchy-hke,  them  days,  wasn't  'ardly  worth 
countin'.  'Twas  hke  this,  see,  that  'e  managed 
it.  You'll  remember  that,  when  we  mobihsed, 
some  Lost  Dogs'  'Ome  or  Society  for  Preventin* 
Christian  KJuowledge,  or  something,  rushes  up 
a  issue  o'  pocket  Testaments  an'  dishes  out  one 
to  everybody  in  the  Battery.  Bound  in  a  khaki 
cover  they  was,  an',  comin'  in  remarkable  'andy 
as  a  nice  sentimental  sort  o'  keepsake,  most  of 
'em  stayed  be'ind  wi'  sweet'earts  an'  wives. 
Them  as  didn't  must  'ave  gone  into  "  Base  kit," 
cos  any'ow  there  wasn't  one  to  be  raked  out  o' 
the  Battery  later  on  excep'  the  one  that  Pint-o'- 
Bass  was  carryin'.  Bein'  pocket  Testaments, 
they  was  made  o*  the  thinnest  kind  o'  paper 
an'  Bass  tole  me  the  size  worked  out  exackly 
right  at  two  fags  to  the  page.     'E  started  on 


A  SMOKER'S  COMPANION  235 

the  Creation  just  about  the  time  o'  Mons,  an* 
by  the  time  we'd  got  back  to  the  Aisne  'e  was 
near  through  Genesis.  All  the  time  we  was 
workin'  up  thro*  France  again  Bass's  smokes 
were  workin'  down  through  Exodus,  an*  *e  begun 
to  worry  about  whether  the  Testament  would 
carry  *im  through  the  campaign.  The  other 
fellers  that  *ad  their  tongues  'anging  out  for  a 
fag  uster  go*n  borrow  a  leaf  ofi  o*  Bass  whenever 
they  could  raise  a  bit  o*  baccy,  but  at  last  Bass 
shut  down  on  these  loans.  "  Where's  your  own 
Testament  ?  "  he'd  say.  "  You  was  served  out 
one  same  as  me,  wasn't  you  ?  Lot  o'  irrehgious 
wasters  !  Get  a  Bible  give  you  an'  can't  take  the 
trouble  to  carry  it.  You'd  ha'  sold  them  Testa- 
ments at  a  sixpence  a  sack  in  Woolwich  if  there'd 
been  buyers  at  that  price — ^which  there  weren't. 
An'  now  you  comes  beggin'  a  page  o'  mine.  I 
ain't  goin'  to  give  no  more.  Encouragin'  thrift- 
lessness,  as  the  Adjutant  'ud  call  it ;  an',  besides, 
'ow  do  I  know  'ow  long  this  war's  goin'  to  last 
or  when  I'U  see  a  fag  or  a  fag-paper  again  ?  I'll 
be  smoking  Deuteronomy  an'  Kings  long  afore 
we're  over  the  Rhine,  an'  mebbe,"  he  sez,  turnin"* 
over  the  pages  with  'is  thumb  an*  tearin*  out  the 
Children  of  Israel  careful  by  the  roots,  "  mebbe 


236  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

I'll  be  reduced  to  smokin'  the  inscription,  *  To 
our  Dear  Soldier  Friend/  on  the  fly-leaf  afore  I 
gets  a  chance  to  loot  some  'baccy  shop  in  Berlin. 
No/'  'e  sez.  "  No.  You  go'n  smoke  a  corner 
o'  the  Pd-it  Journal,  an*  good  enough  for  you, 
unprovident  sacriligeous  bhghters,  you^ — givin' 
away  your  own  good  Testaments." 

*  Young  Soapy,  o'  the  Centre  Section,  'im  that 
was  struck  off  the  strength  at  Wipers  later  through 
stoppin'  a  Ck)al-Box,  tried  to  come  the  artful,  an' 
'ad  the  front  to  'alt  the  Division  padre  one  day 
an'  ask  'im  if  'e'd  any  spares  o'  pocket  Testa- 
ments in  store,  makin'  out  'e'd  lost  'is  through 
lendin'  it  to  'is  Number  One,  who  had  gone 
**Missin'."  Soapy  made  out  'e  couldn't  sleep  in 
'is  bed  at  night — which  wasn't  sayin'  much, 
seein'  we  mostly  slep'  in  our  seats  or  saddles 
them  nights — becos  'e  hadn't  read  a  chapter  o' 
the  Testament  first.  An'  the  old  sky-pilot  was 
a  little  bit  surprised — he'd  'a  bin  more  surprised 
if  'e  knew  Soapy  as  well  as  I  did — an'  a  heap 
pleased,  and  most  of  aU  bowed  down  wi'  grief 
becos  'e  'adn't  no  Testament  that  was  super - 
numary  to  War  Establishment,  and  so  couldn't 
issue  one  to  Soapy.  But  two  days  later  'e  comes 
'unting  for  Soapy,  as  pleased  as  a  dog  wi'  two 


A  SMOKER'S  COMPANION  237 

tails,  an'  smilin'  as  glad  as  if  'e'd  just  converted 
the  Kaiser  ;  an'  'e  lugs  out  a  big  Bible  'e'd  bought 
in  a  village  we'd  just  passed  through,  an'  writes 
Soapy's  name  on  the  fly-leaf  an'  presents  it  to 
'im,  and  tells  'im  'e'U  come  an'  'ave  a  chat  any 
time  'e's  near  the  Battery.  The  Bible  was  none 
o'  your  fiddhn'  pocket  things,  but  a  good  sub- 
stantial one,  wi'  pitchers  o'  Moses  in  the  bulrushes 
an'  Abraham  scarifyin'  'is  son,  an'  such  like.  An' 
the  leaves  was  that  thick  that  Soapy  might  as  well 
'ave  smoked  brown  paper  or  the  Pet-it  JournaL 
But  that  wasn't  the  worst  of  it.  Soapy  chucked 
it  over  the  first  'edge  soon  as  the  padre  'ad  gone, 
but  next  day  the  padre  rolls  up  and  tells  Soapy 
a  Sapper  'ad  picked  it  up  and  brought  it  to  'im 
— 'im  'avin'  signed  'is  name  an'  rank  after  "  Pre- 
sented  by "  on   the   fly-leaf.    An'    'e  warns 

Soapy  to  be  more  careful,  and  'elps  'im  stow  it 
in  'is  'aversack,  where  it  took  up  most  the  room 
an'  weighed  a  ton,  an'  left  Soapy  to  distribute 
'is  bully  beef  an'  biscuits  an'  cheese  an'  spare 
socks  and  cetera  in  all  the  pockets  'e  'ad.  An 
even  then  poor  Soapy  wasn't  finished,  for  every 
time  the  padre  got  a  chance  'e'd  'op  round  an' 
'ave  a  chat,  as  'e  called  it,  wi'  Soapy,  the  chat 
being  a  cross-examination  worse'n  a  Court-Martial 


238  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

on  what  chapter  Soapy  'ad  been  readin,'  an'  full 
explanations  of  same.  Soapy  was  drove  at  last 
to  readin'  a  chapter,  so  'e  could  make  out  'e  savvied 
something  of  it.' 

The  Gunner  tapped  out  his  pipe  on  the  heel 
of  his  boot  and  began  to  re-fill  it. 

'If  you'll  beheve  me,'  he  said,  'that  padre 
got  poor  Soapy  pinned  down  so  he  was  readin' 
near  a  chapter  a  day — which  shows  the  'orrible 
results  that  can  come  o'  a  little  bit  of  simple 
deception.' 

'An'  how  is  Pint-o'-Bass  goin'  on  wi'  his 
Testament  ?  '  asked  the  Lead  Driver. 

'  'E  don't  need  to  smoke  it,  now  we're  in  these 
fixed  positions  an'  getting  Hberal  suppHes  from 
these  people  that  sends  up  to  the  papers'  Tobacco 
Funds.  But  'e's  savin'  up  the  rest  of  it.  Reckons 
that  when  we  get  the  Germans  on  the  run  again 
the  movin'  will  be  at  the  trot  canter  an'  gallop, 
same's  before ;  an'  the  cigarette  suppHes  won't 
be  able  to  keep  up  the  pace.  An'  besides,  'e 
sez,  'e  reckons  it's  only  a  fair  thing  to  smoke  a 
cig'rette  made  wi'  the  larst  chapter  down  the 
'Igh  Street  o'  Berhn  the  day  Peace  is  declared.' 


THE  JOB  OF  THE  AM.  COL. 

The  wide  door  of  the  barn  creaked  open  and 
admitted  a  swirl  of  sleety  snow,  a  gust  of  bitter 
cold  wind,  and  the  Bombardier.  A  little  group 
of  men  round  a  guttering  candle-lamp  looked 
up. 

*  Hello,  Father  Christmas,*  said  the  Centre 
Driver.  '  You*re  a  bit  late  for  your  proper  day, 
but  we'll  let  you  ofi  that  if  you  fill  our  stockings 
up  proper.' 

'  Wipe  yer  feet  careful  on  the  mat,'  said  the 
Lead  Driver,  *  an'  put  yer  umbrella  in  the  'all 
stand.' 

*  'Ere,  don't  go  shakin'  that  snow  all  over 
the  straw,*    said  the  "Wheel  Driver  indignantly. 

*  I'm  goin'  to  sleep  there  presently  an'  the  straw's 
damp  enough  as  it  is.' 

*  Glad  you're  so  sure  about  sleepin'  there,* 
the  Bombardier  said,  divesting  himself  of  his  bando- 
lier and  struggling  out  of  his  snow-covered  coat. 

*  By  the  look  o'  things,  it's  quite  on  the  cards  you 

239 


240  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

get   turned   out   presently  an'   have  to   take  up 
some  pills  to  the  guns/ 

*  Pretty  busy  to-night,  ain't  they  ? '  said  the 
Centre  Driver.  *  We  heard  'em  bumpin'  away 
good-oh.* 

*  You  don't  'ear  the  'alf  of  it  back  'ere/  said 
the  Bombardier.  *  Wind's  blowin'  most  o'  the  row 
away.  They're  goin'  it  hot  an'  strong.  Now 
where's  my  mess-tin  got  to  ?  'Aven't  'ad  no  tea 
yet,  an*  it's  near  eight  o'clock.  I'm  just  about 
froze  through  too.' 

*  Here  y'are,'  said  the  Centre  Driver,  throwing 
a  mess-tin  over.  *  An'  the  cook  kep'  tea  hot 
for  you  an'  the  rest  that  was  out.' 

*  Pull  that  door  shut  be'ind  you,'  said  the 
Wheel  Driver.  *  This  barn's  cold  as  a  ice-'ouse 
already,  an'  the  roof  leaks  Hke  a  broke  sieve. 
BiUet!    Strewth,   it  ain't  'arf  a   biUet ! ' 

The  Bombardier  returned  presently  with  a 
mess-tin  of  *  raw  '  (milkless  and  sugarless)  tea  and 
proceeded  to  make  a  meal  ofi  that,  some  stone- 
hard  biscuits  and  the  scrapings  of  a  pot  of  jam. 

'  What  sort  o'  trip  did  you  'ave  ? '  asked 
the  Centre  Driver.  '  Anyways  peaceful,  or  was  you 
dodgin'  the  Coal-Boxes  this  time  ?  ' 

*  Not  a  Coal-Box,  or  any  other  box,'   said  the 


THE  JOB  OF  THE  AM.  COL.         241 

Bombardier,  hammering  a  biscuit  to  fragments 
with  a  rifle-butt.  *  An'  I  'aven't  'ad  a  shell  drop 
near  me  for  a  week.' 

*  If  we  keeps  on  like  this/  said  the  Centre 
Driver,  *  we'll  get  fancyin'  we're  back  on  Long 
Valley  man-oovers.' 

*  Wot  you  grousin'  about  anyway  ? '  remarked 
the  Wheel  Driver.  '  This  is  a  Ammunition  Column, 
ain't  it  ?  Or  d'you  s'pose  it's  an  Am.  Col's 
bizness  to  go  chasin'  after  bombardments  an' 
shell-fire.  If  you  ain't  satisfied  you'd  better 
try'n  get  transferred  to  the  trenches.' 

*  Or  if  that's  too  peaceful  for  you,'  put  in 
the  Lead  Driver,  *  you  might  apply  to  be  sent  to 
England  where  the  war's  ragin'  an'  the  Zeppehns 
is  killin'  wimmin  an'  window-panes.' 

*  Talkin'  o'  transferring  to  the  trenches,'  said 
the  Bombardier  putting  down  his  empty  mess- 
tin  and  producing  his  pipe.  *  Reminds  me  o'  a 
Left'nant  we  'ad  join  us  a  month  or  two  back. 
It  was  the  time  you  chaps  was  away  attached 
to  that  other  Division,  so  you  didn't  know  'im. 
'E'd  bin  with  a  Battery  right  through,  but  'e 
got  a  leave  an'  when  'e  come  back  fi'oni  England 
'e  was  sent  to  us.     'Is  batman  ^    tole  me  'e  was 

^  Servant. 


242  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

a  bit  upset  at  first  about  bein'  cut  adrift  from 
'is  pals  in  the  Battery  but  'e  perked  up  an'  reckoned 
'e  was  goin'  to  'ave  things  nice  an'  cushy  for  a  bit. 
An'  'e  as  much  as  says  so  himself  to  me  the  first 
time  'e  was  takin'  ammunition  up  an'  I  was  along 
with  'im.  I'd  been  doin'  orderly  at  the  Battery 
an'  brought  down  the  requisition  for  so  many 
rounds,  an'  it  bein'  the  Left'nant's  first  trip  up, 
an'  not  knowin'  the  road  'e  'as  me  up  in  front 
with  'im  to  show  the  way.  It  was  an  unusual 
fine  mornin'  I  remember,  'avin'  stopped  rainin' 
for  almost  an  hour,  an'  just  as  we  started  somethin' 
that  might  'ave  been  a  sun  tried  'is  'ardest  to 
shine.  Soon  as  we  was  on  the  road  the  Left'nant 
gives  the  word  to  march  at  ease,  an'  hghts  up 
a  cig'rette  'imself. 

*  "  Great  mornin'  ain't  it,  Bombardier  ?  "  'e  sez. 
"  Not  more'n  a  foot  or  two  o'  mud  on  the  roads, 
an'  the  temperature  almost  above  freezin'-point. 
I'm  just  about  beginnin'  to  hke  this  job  on 
the  Am.  Gol.  'Ave  you  bin  with  a  Battery 
out  'ere  ?  " 

*I  tole  'im  yes  an'  came  to  the  Column  after 
bein'  shghtly  wounded. 

* "  Well,"  'e  sez,  "  you  knows  'ow  much  better 
off   you   are   'ere.     You    don't   'ave   no   standin' 


THE  JOB  OF  THE  AM.  COL.         243 

to  the  gun  'arf  the  night  in  the  rain,  an*  Hve  all 
the  rest  o*  the  nights  an'  all  the  days  in  a  dirty, 
muddy,  stufiy  funk-*ole.  That's  the  one  thing  I'm 
most  glad  to  be  out  of,"  'e  sez.  "  Livin'  under 
the  ground,  Hke  a  rabbit  in  a  burrow  with  every 
chance  of  'avin'  'is  'ead  blowed  ofi  if  'e  looks  up 
over  the  edge.  I've  'ad  enough  o'  dug-outs  an' 
observin'  from  the  trenches,  an  Coal-Box  dodgin* 
to  last  me  a  bit,  an'  it's  a  pleasant  change  to  be 
ridin'  a  decent  'orse  on  a  most  indecent  apology 
for  a  road,  an'  not  a  Jack  Johnson  in  sight,  even 
if  they  are  in  'earing." 

*  'E  made  several  more  remarks  Hke  that  durin' 
the  mornin',  an*  of  course  I  agreed  with  'im.  I 
mostly  does  agree  with  an  officer  an'  most  especial 
a  young  'un.  If  you  don't,  'e  always  thinks  'e's 
right  an'  you're  just  that  much  big  a  fool  not  to 
know  it.  An'  the  younger  'e  is,  the  more  right 
'e  is,  an'  the  bigger  fool  you  or  anyone  else  is. 

*Well,  the  Left'nant's  enthoosy-ism  cools  ofi 
a  bit  when  it  begins  to  rain  again  hke  as  if  some  one 
had  turned  on  the  tap  o'  a  waterfall,  but  he  tried 
to  cheer  himself  remarkin'  that  most  hkely  'is 
Battery  was  bein'  flooded  out  of  their  dug-outs. 
But  I  could'  see  he  was  beginnin*  to  doubt 
whether  the    Am.    Col.'s    job  was    as   cushy    as 


244  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

he'd  reckoned  when  the  off-lead  o*  Number  One 
wagon  tries  a  cross-Channel-swim  act  in  one  of 
them  four-foot  deep  ditches.  The  wagons  'ad 
to  pull  aside  to  let  some  transport  motor-lorries 
past  an'  One's  off-lead  that  was  a  new  'orse  just 
come  to  the  Column  from  Base  Remounts  an'  had 
some  objections  to  motor-lorries  hootin'  in  his  ear 
an'  scrapin'  past  a  eighth  of  an  inch  from  his 
nose — 'e  side-shpped  into  the  ditch.  'E  stood 
there  wi'  the  water  up  to  'is  shoulder  an'  the 
lead  driver  lookin'  down  on  'im  an'  repeatin' 
rapid-fire  prayers  over  'im.  I  may  say  it  took 
the  best  bit  o'  half  an  hour  to  get  that  blighter 
on  to  the  road  again  an'  the  Left'nant  prancin' 
round  an'  sayin'  things  a  parrot  would  blush 
to  repeat.  But  'e  did  more  than  say  things, 
an'  I'm  wilhn'  to  admit  it.  'E  got  down  off  his 
horse  an'  did  'is  best  to  coax  the  off-lead  out  wi' 
kind  words  an'  a  ridin'  cane.  An'  when  they 
missed  fire  an'  we  got  a  drag-rope  round  the 
silly  brute  the  Left'nant  laid  'old  an'  muddied 
himself  up  wi'  the  rest.  We  'ad  to  dig  down 
the  bank  a  bit  at  last  an'  hook  a  team  on  the 
drag-rope,  an*  we  pulled  that  'orse  out  o'  the 
mud  hke  puUin'  a  cork  from  a  bottle.  It  was  rainin' 
in  tons  all  this  time  an'  I  fancy  the  Left'nant's 


THE  JOB  OF  THE  AM.  COL.         245 

opinion  o'  the  Am.  Col's  job  had  reined  back 
another  pace  or  two,  especially  as  he*d  shpped 
an'  come  down  full  length  in  the  mud  when 
hauhn*  on  the  drag-rope,  an'  had  also  shd  one  leg 
in  the  ditch  well  over  the  boot-top  in  reachin' 
out  for  a  good  swipe  wi'  the  cane. 

*  We  plods  off  again  at  last,  an'  presently  we 
begins  to  get  abreast  o'  some  position  where 
one  o'  our  big  siege  guns  was  beltin'  away.  A  bit 
further  on,  the  road  took  a  turn  an'  the  siege 
gun's  shells  were  roarin'  along  over  our  heads 
like  an  express  train  goin'  through  a  tunnel ;  an' 
the  Left'nant  kept  cockin'  a  worried  eye  round 
every  time  she  banged  an'  presently  'e  sez  sharp- 
like to  the  drivers  to  walk  out  their  teams  and 
get  clear  of  the  hne  of  fire. 

* "  If  a  German  battery  staris  trying  to  out 
that  feller,"  he  sez  to  me,  "we  just  about  stand  a 
healthy  chance  of  meetin'  an  odd  shell  or  two 
that's  tryin'  for  the  range." 

*  We  had  to  pass  through  a  bit  of  a  town  called 
Palloo,^  an'  just  before  we  comes  to  it  we  met 
some  teams  from  one  of  the  Column's  other  sec- 
tions  comin'   back.     Their   officer   was   in   front 

^  The  identity  of  the  town  it  very  effectually  placed  beyond  recognition 
by  the  Bombardier's  prononciation. 


246  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

an'  as  we  passed  he  called  to  the  Left'nant  that 
Palloo  had  been  shelled  that  mornin'  an*  the 
Headquarter  Staff  near  blotted  out. 

*I  could  just  see  the  Left'nant  chewin'  this 
over  as  we  went  on,  an'  presently  he  asks  me 
if  it's  anyways  a  frequent  thing  for  us  to  come 
under  fire  takin'  ammunition  up.  I  told  'im 
about  a  few  o'  the  times  I'd  seen  it  happen  my- 
self, an'  also  about  how  we  had  the  airmen  an' 
the  Grerman  guns  makin'  a  dead  set  at  the  Column 
durin'  the  Retreat  an'  shelUn'  us^out  o'  one  place 
after  the  other. 

'  Before  I  finished  it  we  hears  the  whoop  o'  a 
big  shell  an'  a  crash  in  the  town,  an'  the  drivers 
begins  to  look  round  at  each  other.  Bang-bang 
another  couple  o'  shells  drops  in  poor  old  Palloo, 
an'  the  drivers  begins  to  look  at  the  Left'nant 
an'  to  finger  their  reins.  He  kep'  on,  an'  of 
course  I  follows  'im  an'  the  teams  follows  us. 

* "  I  see  there's  a  church  tower  in  the  town. 
Bombardier,"  he  sez.  "  Does  our  road  run 
near  it  ?  " 

*I  told  him  we  'ad  to  go  through  the  square 
where  the  church  stood. 

'  "  Then  we  come  pretty  near  walkin'  through 
the  bull's-eye  o'  their  target,"  he  sez ;  *'  for  I'D  bet 


THE  JOB  OF  THE  AM.  COL.         247 

they're  reckonin'   on  an   observation  post   bein' 
in  the  tower,  an*  they're  tyin'  to  out  it." 

*  We  got  into  Palloo  an'  it  was  like  goin'  through 
it  at  midnight,  only  wi'  daylight  instead  of  lamp- 
light. There  wasn't  an  inhabitant  to  be  seen, 
except  one  man  peepin'  up  from  a  cellar  gratin', 
an*  one  woman  runnin'  after  a  toddlin'  kid  that 
'ad  strayed  out.  She  was  shriekin'  quick -fire 
French  at  it  an'  when  she  grabbed  it  up  an'  started 
back  the  kid  opened  'is  lungs  an'  near  yelled 
the  roof  off.  The  woman  ran  into  a  house  an' 
the  door  slammed  an'  shut  off  the  shriekin'  like 
liftin'  the  needle  oft*  a  gramaphone  disc.  An' 
it  left  the  main  street  most  awful  empty  an' 
still  wi'  the  jingle  o'  the  teams'  harness  an'  clatter 
o'  the  wagon  wheels  the  only  sounds.  Another 
few  shells  came  in  an'  one  hit  a  house  down  the 
street  in  front  of  us.  We  saw  the  slates  an'  the 
chimney  pots  fair  jump  in  the  air  an'  the  'ole 
'ouse  sort  of  collapsed  in  a  heap  an'  a  billowin' 
cloud  o'  white  smoke  an'  dust.  There  was  some 
of  our  troops  hookin'  a  few  wounded  civilians 
out  as  we  passed  and  the  road  was  cluttered  up 
wi'  bricks  an'  half  a  door  an'  broken  bits  o'  chairs 
an'  tables  an'  crockery.  Fair  blew  the  inside 
out  o'  the  house,  that  shell  did. 


248  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

*  When  we  come  clear  o'  the  town  there  was  a 
long  stretch  o'  clear  road  to  cover,  an'  we  was 
ploddin'  down  this  when  we  hears  the  hum  o' 
an  airyplane.  The  Left'nant  squints  up  an' 
"  It's  a  Tawb,"  he  sez. 

*  "  Beggin'  your  pardon  sir/'  I  told  'im,  *'  but 
it's  a  German.  No  mistakin'  them  bird-shaped 
wings  an'  tail.     He's  a  German,  sure  enough." 

*  "  That's  what  I  just  said,  Bombardier,"  he  sez, 
which,  it  wasn't  but  I  knew  it  was  no  use  sayin'  so. 

*  The  airyplane  swoops  round  an'  comes  flyin' 
straight  to  us  an*  passed  about  our  heads  an' 
circles  round  to  have  a  good  look  at  us.  The 
Left'nant  was  fair  riled. 

*  "  Dash  'is  impidence,"  he  sez.  "  If  he'd  only 
come  a  bit  lower  we  might  fetch  him  a  smack " ; 
an'  he  tells  the  gunners  to  get  their  rifles  out. 
But  the  German  knew  too  much  to  come  close 
down  though  he  flew  right  over  us  once  or  twice. 

*  "  Why  in  thunder  don't  some  of  our  guns  have 
a  whale  at  'im,'"  the  Left'nant  says  angry-like, 
" '  or  our  airmen  get  up  an'  shoot  some  holes  in  'im. 
He'll  be  droppin'  a  clothes-basketful  o'  bombs  on 
my  wagons  presently,  like  as  not.  An'  I  can't 
even  loose  ofl  a  rifle  at  the  bounder.  Good  Lord, 
that   ever   I  should  live   to   walk  along  a  road 


THE  JOB  OF  THE  AM.  COL.         249 

like  a  tame  sheep  an'  let  a  mouldy  German  chuck 
parcels  o*  bombs  at  me  without  me  being  able 
to  do  more'n  shake  my  fist  at  'im.  .  .  .'*  'An 
he  swore  most  vicious.  The  airyplane  flew  off 
at  last  but  even  then  the  Left'nant  wasn't  satisfied. 
*'  He'll  be  off  back  'ome  to  report  this  Ammunition 
Colunm  on  this  particular  spot  on  the  road,"  he 
sez,  "  if  he's  not  tickin'  off  the  glad  tidings  on  a 
wireless  to  'is  batteries  now.  An'  presently  I 
suppose  they'll  start  starring  this  road  wi'  high- 
explosive  shell.  Did  ever  you  know  a  wagon 
full  to  the  brim  wi'  lyddite  being  hit  by  a  high- 
explosive,  Bombardier,  or  hear  how  'twould  affect 
the  Column's  health  ?  " 

*  "  I  knew  of  a  German  column  that  one  of 
our  airyplanes  dropped  a  bomb  on,  at  the  Aisne, 
sir,"  I  sez.  *'  I  passed  the  place  on  the  road  myself 
soon  after." 

*  "  An'  what  happened  ?  '*  he  asks,  an*  I  told  'im 
it  seemed  the  bomb  exploded  the  wagon  it 
hit  an'  the  wagons  exploded  each  other.  "  That 
Ammunition  Column,"  I  sez,  **  went  off  hke  a 
packet  o'  crackers,  one  wagon  after  the  other.  An' 
when  we  came  up,  all  that  was  left  o'  that  column 
was  a  reek  o'  sulphur  an*  a  hole  in  the  road." 

'  "That's  cheerful,"  sez  the  Left'nant.     "With 


250  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

us  loaded  down  to  the  gunn'l  wi'  lyddite,  an* 
the  prospect  o*  being  a  target  for  every  German 
gun  within  range  o*  this  road.*'  He  fidgeted 
in  his  saddle  a  bit,  an*  then,  "  I  suppose,*'  he  sez, 
**  they*ll  calculate  our  pace  an*  the  distance  we've 
moved  since  this  airman  saw  us,  an*  they'll  shell 
the  section  o*  road  just  ahead  of  us  now  to  glory. 
I*d  halt  for  a  bit  just  to  cheat  'em,  for  they*ll 
shoot  by  the  map  without  seein*  us.  But  that 
requisition  for  lyddite  was  urgent,  wasn*t  it  ?  *' 

'  I  told  him  it  was  so,  an*  the  Battery  captain 
had  told  me  to  get  it  in  quick  to  the  column. 

*  "  Then  we*ll  just  have  to  push  on  an'  chance 
it,"  sez  the  Left'nant,  "  though  I  must  own  I  do 
hate  being  made  a  helpless  runnin'-deer  target 
to  every  German  gunner  that  likes  to  coco-nut 
shy  at  me.  .  .  .  Like  a  packet  o'  crackers.  .  .  . 
Good  Lord  !  " 

*We  plodded  on,  the  Left'nant  spurrin'  his 
horse  on  and  reinin'  him  back,  an'  cockin'  his 
ear  for  the  first  shell  bumpin'  on  the  road. 
Nothin'  happened  for  quite  a  bit  after  that, 
an'  I  was  just  about  beginnin'  to  feel  satisfied 
that  the  Germ  bird  'ad  run  into  a  streak  o'  air 
that  our  anti-aircraft  guns  kept  strickly  preserved 
an'    that  'they'd    served    a    Trespassers-will-be- 


THE  JOB  OF  THE  AM.  COL.         251 

Spiflicated  notice  on  'im  an'  had  punctured  him 
an'  his  wings.  But  just  as  we  rounded  a  curve 
an'  came  into  a  long  straight  piece  o'  the  road,  I 
hears  a  high-risin'  swoosh  an'  before  it  finished 
an'  before  the  bang  o'  the  burst  reached  us,  spout 
goes  a  cloud  o'  black  smoke  'way  far  down  the 
road.* 

'"This,"  says  the  Left'nant,  "is  goin'  to  be 
highly  interestin',  not  to  say  exciting  presently. 
I  figure  that's  either  a  four-point-two  or  a  five- 
point-nine -inch  high-explosive  Hun.  An'  there's 
another  o'  the  dose  from  the  same  bottle,  an* 
about  a  hundred  yards  this  way  along  the  road.  I 
dunno  how  their  high-explosive  will  mix  wi* 
ours,  but  if  they  get  one  direct  hit  on  a  wagon 
we'll  know  all  about  it  pretty  quick.  A  Brock's 
Crystal  Palace  firework  show  won't  be  in  it  wi' 
the  ensooin'  performance.  An'  that  remark  o' 
yours,  bombardier,  about  a  packet  o'  crackers 
recurs  to  my  min'  wi'  most  disquietin'  persistency. 
*  An'  still  they  come,*  as  the  poet  remarks." 

*  They  was  comin'  too,  an'  no  fatal  error.  No 
hurry  about  'em,  but  a  most  alarmin'  regularity. 
They  was  all  pitchin'  plumb  on  that  road,  an' 
each  one  about  fifty  to  a  hundred  yards  nearer 
our  procession,  an'  us  walkin'  straight  into  the 


252  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

shower  too.  The  swoosh-bang  o'  each  one  kep* 
gettin'  louder  an'  louder,  an'  not  a  single  one  was 
missin'  the  road.  I  tell  you,  I  could  feel  the  flesh 
creepin'  on  my  bones  an'  a  feelin'  in  the  pit  o'  my 
stomach  like  I'd  swallowed  a  tuppenny  ice-cream 
whole.  There  was  no  way  o'  dodgin',  remember. 
We'd  a  ditch  lippin'  full  o'  water  along  both  sides 
o'  the  road  an'  we  knew  without  lookin' — though 
the  Left'nant  did  'ave  one  squint — that  they 
was  the  usual  brand  o'  ditch  hereabouts,  any- 
thin'  down  to  six  foot  deep  an'  sides  cut  down  as 
straight  as  a  cellar  wall.  It  was  no  use  trottin' 
'cos  we  might  just  be  hurryin'  up  to  be  in  time  to 
arrive  on  the  right  spot  to  meet  one.  An'  it  was 
no  use  haltin'  for  exactly  the  same  reason.  The 
Left'nant  reins  back  beside  the  leadin'  team,  an' 
believe  me  there  wasn't  one  pair  o'  eyes  in  all  that 
outfit  that  wasn't  glued  on  'im  nor  a  pair  o'  ears 
that  wasn't  waitin'  anxious  for  some  order  to  come, 
an'  I'm  includin'  my  own  eyes  an'  ears  in  the  cata- 
logue. There  was  nothin'  to  be  done  an'  nothin' 
to  be  said,  an'  we  all  knew  it,  but  at  the  same 
time  we  was  ready  to  jump  to  any  order  the 
Left'nant  passed  out.  The  shells  was  droppin' 
at  about  ten  to  fifteen  seconds'  interval,  an'  we 
could  see  it  was  goin'  to  be  a  matter  o'  blind  luck 


THE  JOB  OF  THE  AM.  COL.         253 

whether  one  pitched  short  or  over  or  fair  a-top  o' 
us.  They  were  closer  spaced,  too,  as  they  come 
nearer,  an'  I  reckon  there  wasn't  more'n  fifty  or 
sixty  yards  atween  the  last  two  or  three  bursts. 
An'  we  was  still  walkin'  on,  every  man  wi'  his 
reins  short  an'  feelin'  'is  'orse's  mouth,  an'  his 
knees  grippin'  the  saddle  hard. 

^  "  Bang ! "  one  hits  the  road  about  one-fifty  to 
two  hundred  yards  short  an'  we  heard  chips  o' 
it  whizz  an'  hum  past  us.  The  Left'nant  looks, 
round.  "  When  I  say  '  trot '  you'll  trot,"  he 
shouts,  "  an'  no  man  is  to  stop  or  slow  up  to  pick 
up  anyone  hit." 

'Next  second,  "  Crash!  "  comes  another  about 
a  hundred  yards  off,  an'  before  the  lumps  of  it  sung 
past,  "  Ter-r-rot ! "  yells  the  Left'nant.  Now  some 
people  might  call  the  en-sooin'  movement  a  trot,  an' 
some  might  call  it  a  warm  canter  an'  first  cousin 
to  a  gallop.  We  sees  the  game  in  a  wink — to  get 
past  the  spot  the  next  crump  was  due  to  arrive 
on  afore  it  did  arrive.  We  did  it  too — ^handsome 
an'  wi'  some  to  spare,  though  when  I  heard  the 
roarin'  swoosh  of  it  comin'  down  I  thought  we  was 
for  it  an'  a  direck  hit  was  due.  But  it  went  well 
over  an'  none  of  the  splinters  touched. 

* "  Steady  there,  steady,"  shouts  the  Left'nant 


254  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

"  but  keep  goin'.  They'll  repeat  tlie  series  if 
they've  any  sense."  We  could  hear  the  blighters 
crumpin'  away  back  down  the  road  behind  us,  an' 
believe  me  we  kep'  goin'  all  right.  But  the  Boshe 
didn't  repeat  the  series ;  he  went  on  a  new  game 
an'  just  afore  we  came  to  the  end  o'  the  straight 
stretch  four  crumps  pitched  down  astride  the 
road  ahead  of  us  about  two  hundred  yards.  One 
hit  the  edge  o'  the  road  an'  the  others  in  the  fields 
on  both  sides  an'  one  of  these  was  a  dud  an'  didn't 
burst.  But  we  knew  that  the  fellers  that  did  go 
ofi  would  make  a  highly  unhealthy  circle  around 
an'  the  prospect  o'  being  there  or  thereabouts 
when  the  next  boo-kay  landed  wasn't  none  too 
allurin'.  The  Left'nant  yells  to  come  on,  an'  we 
came,  oh,  take  it  from  me,  we  came  a-humpin'. 
There  was  some  fancy  driving  past  them  crump 
holes  in  the  road,  but  we  might  have  been  at 
Olympia  the  way  them  drivers  shaved  past  at 
the  canter.  We  was  just  past  the  last  spot  the 
four  landed  when  I  heard  the  whistle  o'  another 
bunch  comin'  an'  my  hair  near  lifted  my  cap  off. 
Them  wagons  o'  ours  isn't  built  for  any  speed 
records  but  I  fancy  they  covered  more  ground  in 
the  next  few  seconds  than  ever  they've  done 
before.    But  goin'  our  best,  there  was  no   hope 


THE    JOB    OF   THE   AM.    COL.        255 

o'  clearin'  the  blast  o'  the  explosions  if  they 
explosioned  on  the  same  target,  an'  we  all  made 
ourselves  as  small  as  we  could  on  our  horses'  backs 
an'  felt  we  was  as  big  as  a  barn  all  the  time  the 
rush  was  gettin'  louder  an'  louder.  Then  thud- 
thud-thud  an'  crash  !  three  of  'em  dropped  blind 
an'  only  the  one  exploded  ;  an'  it  bein'  in  the 
ditch  didn't  do  any  harm  beyond  sendin'  up  a 
spout  o'  water  about  a  mile  high.  Three  duds 
out  o'  four — if  that  wasn't  a  miracle  I  want  to 
know.  But  we  wasn't  countin'  too  much  on  it 
bein'  miracle  day  an'  we  kept  the  wheels  goin' 
round  with  the  whistle  over-'ead  an'  the  crashes 
behind  to  discourage  any  loiterin'  to  gather 
flowers  by  the  way. 

*  An'  when  we  was  well  past  an'  slowed  down 
again  I  heard  the  Left'nant  draw  a  deep  breath  an' 
say  soft-like  "  .  .  .  a  packet  o' Chinese  crackers." 

'But  'e  said  something  stronger  that  same 
night.  He'd  just  crawled  back  to  the  Column 
wi'  his  empty  wagons  leavin'  me  as  orderly  at 
the  Battery,  an'  me  havin'  a  pressin'  message 
to  take  back  for  more  shells  I  trotted  out  an' 
got  back  soon  after'^he  did.  I  took  my  message 
to  the  old  farm  where  the  officers  was  billeted  an' 
the  mess-man  takes  my  note  in.    I  got  a  glimpse 


256  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

o'  the  Left'nant  wi'  his  jacket  an'  boots  ofi  an* 
his  breeches  folio  win'  suit.  "  I'd  a  rotten  day," 
he  was  sayin',  "  but  one  good  point  about  this 
Am.  Col.  job — an'  the  only  one  I  see — is  that  you 
get  the  night  in  bed  wi'  your  breeches  ofi." 

*  But  if  you'd  only  'eard  'im  when  he  found  he 
was  for  the  road  again  at  once  an'  would  spend 
'is  night  in  the  rain  an'  dark  instead  of  in  bed — 
well,  I  couldn't  repeat  'is  language,  not  'aving 
the  talent  to  'is  extent. 

*  'E  was  transferred  to  a  battery  soon  after  an' 
I  'eard  that  when  he  got  the  orders  all  'e  'ad  to 
say  was,  "Thank  'Eaven.  I'll  mebbe  get  shelled 
oftener  in  a  battery,  but  at  least  I'll  'ave  the 
satisfaction  o'  shellin'  back — an'  /  may  'ave  a 
funk-hole  handy  to  duck  in  when  it's  extry  hot, 
instead  o'  ridin'  on  the  road  an'  expectin'  to  go 
off  Hke  a  packet  'o  crackers." 

*  Mebbe  he  was  right,'  concluded  the  Bombar- 
dier reflectively.  'But  I  s'pose  it's  entirely  a  matter 
o'  taste,  an'  how  a  man  likes  bein'  killed  off.' 


THE  SIGNALLER'S  DAY 

The  gun  detachment  were  curled  up  and  dozing 
on  the  damp  straw  of  their  dug-out  behind  the 
gun  when  the  mail  arrived.  The  men  had  had 
an  early  turn-out  that  morning,  had  been  busy 
serving  or  standing  by  the  gun  all  day,  and  had 
been  under  a  heavy  shell  fire  off  and  on  for  a  dozen 
hours  past.  As  a  result  they  were  fairly  tired — 
the  strain  and  excitement  of  being  under  fire  are 
even  more  physically  exhausting  somehow  than 
hard  bodily  labour — and  might  have  been  hard 
to  rouse.  But  the  magic  words  '  The  mail '  woke 
them  quicker  than  a  round  of  gun-fire,  and  they 
sat  up  and  rubbed  the  sleep  from  their  eyes  and 
clustered  eagerly  round  the  Number  One  (sergeant 
in  charge  of  the  detachment)  who  was  '  dishing  out ' 
the  letters.  Thereafter  a  deep  silence  fell  on  the 
dug-out,  the  recipients  of  letters  crowding  with 
bent  heads  round  the  guttering  candle,  the 
disappointed  ones  watching  them  with  envious 
eyes. 


258  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

An  exclamation  of  deep  disgust  from  the 
Signaller  brought  no  comment  until  the  last  letter 
was  read>  but  then  the  Limber  Gunner  remembered 
and  remarked  on  it. 

*  What  was  that  you  was  rearin'  up  an'  snortin' 
over.  Signals  ? '  he  asked,  carefully  retrieving  a 
cigarette  stump  from  behind  his  ear  and  lighting 
up. 

The  Signaller  snorted  again.  *Just  'ark  at 
this,'  he  said,  unfolding  his  letter  again.  '  I'll 
just  read  this  bit,  an'  then  I'll  tell  you  the  sort 
of  merry  dance  I've  'ad  to-day.  This  is  from 
an  uncle  o'  mine  in  London.  'E  grouses  a  bit 
about  the  inconvenience  o'  the  dark  streets,  an' 
then  'e  goes  on,  "  Everyone  at  'ome  is  wonderin' 
why  you  fellows  don't  get  a  move  on  an'  do  some- 
thin'.  The  official  despatches  keeps  on  sayin' 
*  no  movement,'  or  *  nothin'  to  report,'  or  '  all 
quiet,'  till  it  looks  as  if  you  was  all  asleep.  Why 
don't  you  get  up  an'  go  for  'em  ?  "  ' 

The  Signaller  paused  and  looked  up.  *  See  ? ' 
he  said  sarcastically.  '  Everyone  at  'ome  is  won- 
derin', an'  doesn't  Uke  this  "  all  quiet "  business. 
I  wish  everyone  at  'ome,  including  this  uncle  o' 
mine,  'ad  been  up  in  the  trenches  to-day.' 

*  Have   a  lively  time  ? '    asked  the  Number 


THE  SIGNALLER'S  DAY  259 

One.  '  We  had  some  warmisli  spells  back  here. 
They  had  the  range  to  a  dot,  and  plastered  us 
enthusiastic  with  six-  an'  eight-inch  Johnsons  an' 
H.E.  shrapnel.  We'd  three  wounded  an'  lucky 
to  get  off  so  light.' 

*  Lively  time's  the  right  word  for  my  per- 
formance,* said  the  Signaller.  *  Nothin*  of  the 
"  all  quiet "  touch  in  my  Httle  lot  to-day.  It 
started  when  we  was  goin*  up  at  daybreak — me 
an'  the  other  telephonist  wi'  the  Forward  Officer. 
You  know  that  open  stretch  of  road  that  takes 
you  up  to  the  openin'  o*  the  communication 
trenches  ?  Well,  we're  just  nicely  out  in  the 
middle  o'  that  when  Fizz  comes  a  shell  an'  Bang 
just  over  our  'eads,  an'  the  shrapnel  rips  down  on 
the  road  just  behind  us.  Then  Bang-Bang-Bang 
they  come  along  in  a  reg'lar  string  down  the  road. 
They  couldn't  see  us,  an'  I  suppose  they  was  just 
shooting  on  the  map  in  the  hopes  o'  catching 
any  reUefs  o*  the  infantry  on  the  road.  Most 
o'  the  shells  was  percussion,  after  the  first  go, 
an*  they  was  slam-bangin'  down  in  the  road  an' 
the  fields  alongside  an'  flinging  dirt  and  gravel 
in  showers  over  us.  "  Come  on,"  sez  the  Forward 
OflSicer ;  "  this  locahty  is  lookin'  unhealthy,"  an' 
we  picked  up  our  feet  an'  ran  for  it.W^'h/  ^v§ 


260  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

wasn't  all  killed  about  ten  times  each  111  never 
understand  ;  but  we  wasn't,  an'  we  got  to  the  end 
o'  the  communication  trench  an'  dived  into  it 
as  thankful  as  any  rabbit  that  ever  reached  'is 
burrow  with  a  terrier  at  'is  tail.    After  we  got  a 
bit  o'  breath  back  we  ploughed  along  the  trench — 
it  was  about  ankle  deep  in  bits — ^to  the  Infantry 
Headquarters,   an*  the  F.O.   goes   inside.     After 
a  bit  'e  comes  out  an'  tells  me  to  come  on  wi' 
him  up  to  the  Observation  Post.     This  was  about 
eight  ac  emma  (iA.M.[j,  an*  just  gettin'  hght  enough 
to  see.     You  know  what  that  Observin'  Post  of 
ours  is.     The  F.O.  'as  a  fond  de-looshun  that  the 
Germs  can't  see  you  when  you  leave  the  support 
trench  an'  dodge  up  the  wreckage  of  that  hedge 
to  the  old  house ;  but  I  'ave  my  own  opinions  about 
it.    Anyway  I've  never  been  up  yet  without  a 
most  un-natural  lot  o'  bullets  chippin'  twigs  ofi 
the  hedge  an'  smackin'  into  the  ditch.     But  we 
got  into  the  house  all  right  an'  I  unsUngs  my 
Telephone — ^Portable— D  Mark  III.,  an'  connects 
up  with  the  Battery  while  the  F.O.  crawls  up  into 
the  top  storey.     'E  hadn't  been  there  three  minutes 
when  smacJc  .  .  .  smack,  I  hears  two  bullets  hit 
the  tiles  or  the  walls.     The  F.O.  comes  down  again 
in  about  ten  minutes  an'  has  a  talk  to  the  Major 


THE  SIGNALLER'S  DAY  261 

at  the  Battery.  He  reports  fairly  quiet  except 
some  Germ  Pip-Squeak  shells  droppin'  out  on  our 
right,  an*  a  good  deal  o'  sniping  rifle  fire  between 
the  trenches  in  front  of  us.  As  a  general  thing 
IVe  no  serious  objection  to  the  trenches  snipin' 
each  other,  if  only  the  Germs  'ud  aim  more  careful. 
But  mostly  they  aims  shockin'  an*  anything  that 
comes  high  for  our  trench  just  has  the  right  eleva- 
tion for  our  post.  There's  a  broken  window  on 
the  ground  floor  too,  lookin*  out  of  the  room  we 
uses  straight  at  the  Boshies,  an'  the  F.O.  wouldn't 
have  me  block  this  up  at  no  price.  "  Concealment," 
sez  he,  "  is  better  than  protection.  An'  if  they 
see  that  window  sandbagged  up  it's  a  straight 
tip  to  them  this  is  a  Post  of  some  sort,  an'  a  hearty 
invitation  to  them  to  plunk  a  shell  or  two  in  on  us." 
Maybe  'e  was  right,  but  you  can't  well  conceal  a 
whole  house  or  even  the  four  walls  o'  one,  so  I 
should  'ave  voted  for  the  protection  myseli 
Anyhow,  'e  said  I  could  build  a  barricade  at  the 
foot  o'  the  stairs,  where  I'd  hear  him  call  'is  orders 
down,  an'  I'd  be  behind  some  cover.  This  motion 
was  seconded  by  a  bullet  comin'  in  the  window 
an'  puttin'  a  hole  in  the  eye  o'  a  life-size  enlarge- 
ment photo  of  an  old  lady  in  a  poke-bonnet  hangin' 
on  the  wall  opposite.     The  mw  of  the  spUnterin' 


262  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

glass  made  me  think  a  Jack  Johnson  had  arrived, 
an*  I  didn't  waste  time  gettin'  to  work  on  my 
barricade.  I  got  a  arm-chair  an*  the  half  of  a 
sofa  an*  a  broken-legged  table,  an*  made  that  the 
foundation ;  an*  up  against  the  outside  of  them 
I  stacked  a  lot  o*  table  Hnen  an*  books  an*  loose 
bricks  an*  bottles  an*  somebody's  Sunday  clothes 
an*  a  fender  an*  fire-irons  an*  anything  else  I 
thought  any  good  to  turn  a  bullet.  I  finished  up 
by  prizin*  up  a  hearthstone  from  the  fireplace 
an*  proppin*  it  up  against  the  back  o*  the  arm-chair 
an'  sittin*  down  most  luxurious  in  the  chair  an* 
lighting  up  my  pipe.  That*s  a  long  ways  the 
most  comfortable  chair  I've  ever  sat  in — deep 
soft  springy  seat  an*  padded  arms  an'  covered  in 
red  velvet — an*  I  was  just  thinkin*  what  a  treat  it 
was  when  I  hears  the  rifle  fire  out  in  front  beginnin' 
to  brisk  up,  an*  the  Forward  Officer  calls  down 
to  me  to  warn  the  Battery  to  stand  by  because 
o*  some  excitement  in  the  trenches.  "  Major  says 
would  you  like  him  to  give  them  a  few  rounds, 
sir,"  I  shouts  up,  an'  the  F.O.  says,  "Yes — three 
rounds  gun-fire,  on  the  Unes  the  guns  are  laid." 
So  off  goes  your  three  rounds,  an'  I  could  hear 
your  shells  whoopin'  along  over  our  heads. 

'  "  Number  One  gun  add  twenty-five  yards," 


THE  SIGNALLER'S  DAY  263 

calls  down  the  F.O.,  an'  then  gives  some  more 
corrections  an'  calls  for  one  round  battery  fire. 
By  this  time  the  rifle  fire  out  in  front  was  pretty 
thick  and  the  bullets  was  hissin'  an'  whinin'  past 
us  an'  crackin'  on  the  walls.  Another  one  came 
through  the  window  an'  perforated  the  old  lady's 
poke-bonnet,  but  none  o'  them  was  comin'  near 
me,  an'  I  was  just  about  happily  concludin'  I 
wasn't  in  the  direct  line  o'  fire  an'  was  well  covered 
from  strays.  So  I  was  snuggin'  down  in  my  big 
easy  chair  with  the  D  Mark  III.  on  my  knee, 
puffin'  my  pipe  an'  repeatin'  the  F.O.'s  orders 
as  pleasant  as  you  please  when  crack!  a  bullet 
comes  with  an  almighty  smack  through  the  back 
o'  the  arm-chair,  bare  inches  off  my  ear.  Comfort 
or  no  comfort,  thinks  I,  this  is  where  I  resign  the 
chair,  an'  I  slides  out  an'  squats  well  down  on  the 
wet  floor.  It's  surprisin'  too  the  amount  o'  wet 
an  ordinary  carpet  can  hold,  an'  the  chap  that 
designed  the  pattern  o'  this  one  might  'ave  worked 
in  some  water  lilies  an'  duckweed  instead  o'  red 
roses  an'  pink  leaves  if  he'd  known  'ow  it  would 
come  to  be  used.  This  'ouse  'as  been  rather  a 
swagger  one,  judgin'  by  the  style  o'  the  furniture, 
but  one  end  an'  the  roof  'aving  gone  west  with  the 
shellin'  the  whole  show  ain't  what  it  might  be. 


264  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

An'  when  tlie  missus  as  it  belongs  to  returns  to 
'er  'appy  'ome  there's  going  to  be  some  fervent 
remarks  passed  about  the  Germs  an'  the  war 
'generally. 

'But  to  get  on  wi'  the  drill — the  row  in  the 
trenches  got  hotter  an'  hotter,  an'  our  house  might 
'ave  been  a  high-power  magnet  for  bullets,  the 
way  they  was  comin'  in,  through  that  open 
window  special.  The  old  lady  lost  another  eye 
an'  half  an'  ear,  an'  'er  Sunday  gown  an'  a  big 
gold  brooch  was  shot  to  ribbons.  A  bullet  cut 
the  cord  at  last,  an'  the  old  girl  came  down 
bump.  But  I'd  been  watchin'  'er  so  long  I 
felt  she  oughtn't  to  be  disgraced  lyin'  there  on 
'er  face  before  the  German  fire.  So  I  crawled 
out  an'  propped  'er  up  against  the  wall  with  'er 
face  to  the  window.  I  'ope  she'd  be  glad  to  know 
'er  photo  went  down  with  flyin'  poke-bonnet.' 

*It  was  shortly  after  this  our  wire  was  first 
cut — about  ten  ao  emma  [a.m.]  that  would  be. 
I  sings  out  to  the  F.O.  that  I  was  disc\  but 
what  wi'  the  bullets  smackin'  into  the  walls,  the 
shells  passin'  over  us,  the  Coal-Boxes  bursting 
around,  an'  the  trenches  belting  off  at  their  hardest, 
the  F.O.  didn't  'ear  me  an'  I  'ad  to  crawl  up  the 

^  Disconnected. 


THE  SIGNALLER'S  DAY  265 

stairs  to  'im.  Just  as  I  got  to  tlie  top  a  shrap 
burst,  an'  tlie  bullets  came  smashin'  an'  tearin' 
down  thro'  the  tiles  an'  rafters.  The  bullets 
up  there  was  whistlin'  an'  whinin'  past  an'  over 
like  the  wind  in  a  ship's  riggin',  an'  every  now 
an'  then  whack!  one  would  hit  a  tile,  sending 
the  dust  an'  splinters  jumpin'.  The  F.O.  was 
crouched  up  in  one  corner  where  a  handful  o' 
tiles  was  still  clingin',  an'  he  was  peepin'  out 
through  these  with  'is  field  glasses.  "  Keep  down," 
*e  sez  when  'e  saw  me.  *'  There's  a  brace  o'  blanky 
snipers  been  tryin'  for  a  cold  'alf-hour  to  bull's- 
eye  on  to  me.    There  they   go  again ,"  an' 

crack  .  .  .  smack  two  bullets  comes,  one  knockin' 
another  loose  tile  off,  a  foot  over  'is  'ead,  an' 
t'other  puttin'  a  china  ornament  on  the  mantel- 
piece on  the  casualty  Hst. 

*  I  reported  the  wire  cut  an'  the  F.O.  sez  he'd 
come  along  wi'  me  an'  locate  the  break.  '*  We'll 
have  to  hurry,"  he  says,  "  cos  it  looks  to  me  as 
if  a  real  fight  was  breezin'  up."  So  we  crawled 
out  along  the  ditch  an'  down  the  trench,  followin' 
the  wire.  We  found  the  break — there  was  three 
cuts— along  that  bit  o'  road  that  runs  from  the 
RolHn'  River  Trench  down  past  the  Bomb  Store, 
an'  I  don't  ever  want  a  more  highly  excitin'  job 


266  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

than  we  had  mendin'  it.  The  shells  was  fair 
rainin'  down  that  road,  an'  the  air  was  just 
hummin'  Uke  a  harpstring  wi'  bullets  an'  rickos.^ 
We  joined  up  an'  tapped  in  an'  found  we  was 
through  all  right,  so  we  hustled  back  to  the  Post. 
That  'ouse  never  was  a  real  'ealth  resort,  but  to- 
day it  was  suthin'  wicked.  They  must  'ave  sus- 
picioned  there  was  a  Post  there,  an'  they  kep' 
on  pastin'  shells  at  us.  How  they  missed  us  so 
often,  Heaven  an'  that  German  gunner  only  knows. 
They  couldn't  get  a  direct  with  solid,  but  I  must 
admit  they  made  goodish  shootin'  wi'  shrapnel, 
an'  they've  made  that  'ouse  look  Hke  a  second-'and 
pepper-caster.  The  F.O.  was  'avin'  a  most  un- 
happy time  with  shrapnel  an'  rifle  bullets,  but 
'e  'ad  'is  guns  in  action,  so  'e  just  'ad  to  stick  it 
out  an'  go  on  observin',  till  the  wires  was  cut 
again.  This  time  the  F.O.  sez  to  look  back  as  far 
as  the  wire  ran  in  the  trench,  an'  if  I  didn't  find 
the  break  up  to  there  come  back  an'  report  to 
'im.  But  I  found  the  break  in  the  hedge  jus' 
outside,  an'  mended  it  an'  went  back,  the  bullets 
still  zipping  down  an'  me  breakin'  all  the  hands- 
an' -knees  records  for  the  fifty  yards.  I  found 
the  F.O.  'ad  reined  back  a  bit  from  'is  corner  an' 

^  Biooobott. 


THE  SIGNALLER'S  DAY  267 

was  busy  wi'  the  bedroom  poker  breakin'  out  a 
loophole  through  the  bricks  of  the  gable-end 
wall.  'E  came  down  an'  told  the  Major  about 
it.  It  was  getting  too  hot,  'e  said,  an'  the  two 
snipers  must  'ave  'im  located  wi*  field-glasses. 
One  bullet  'ad  nearly  bhnded  'im  wi*  broken-tile 
dust,  an*  another  *ad  tore  a  hole  across  the  side 
of  *is  "British  warm"^;  so  he  was  goin*  to  try 
observin'  through  a  couple  of  loopholes.  Then 
*e  went  up  an*  finished  *is  chippin*  an*  brought 
the  guns  into  action  again.  Just  in  the  middle 
o'  a  series  I  feels  a  most  unholy  crash,  an'  the 
whole  house  rocked  on  its  toe  an*  heel.  The 
brickdust  an*  plaster  came  ratthn*  down,  an* 
when  the  dust  cleared  a  bit  an*  I  got  my  sense  an* 
my  eyesight  back,  I  could  see  a  sphntered  hole 
in  the  far  corner  of  my  ceiHn*.  I  made  sure  the 
F.O.  upstairs  was  blotted  out,  *cos  it  was  that 
corner  upstairs  where  *is  loophole  was ;  but  next 
minute  *e  sings  out  an*  asks  was  I  all  right.  I 
never  felt  less  all  right  in  my  fife,  but  I  told  *im 
I  was  still  aUve,  far  as  knew.  I  crawled  up  to 
see  what  *ad  *appened,  an*  there  was  *im  in  one 
corner  at  *is  peep-*ole,  an*  the  floor  blowed  to 
sphnters  behind  *im  an*  a  big  gap  bust  in  the 

*  Overcoat. 


268  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

gable  wall  at  the  other  corner.  A  shell  had 
made  a  fair  hit  just  about  on  'is  one  loophole, 
while  he  was  lookin'  thro'  the  other.  "  I  believe 
we'll  'ave  to  leave  this,"  he  sez,  *'  an'  move  along 
to  our  other  post.  It's  a  pity,  'cos  I  can't  see 
near  as  well." 

* "  If  we  don't  leave  this  'onse,  sir,"  I  sez, 
"  seems  to  me  it'll  leave  us — an'  in  ha'penny 
numbers  at  that." 

'  So  he  reports  to  the  Major,  an'  I  packs  up, 
an'  we  cleared.  The  shelhng  had  slacked  off  a 
bit,  though  the  trenches  was  still  sHngin'  lead 
hard  as  ever. 

'  "  We  must  hurry,"  sez  the  F.O.  "  They're 
going  to  bombard  a  trench  for  ten  minutes  at  noon, 
and  I  must  be  in  touch  by  then." 

*  We  scurried  round  to  the  other  post,  and 
just  got  fixed  up  before  the  shoot  commenced. 
And  in  the  middle  of  it — ^phutt  goes  first  one  wire 
an'  then  the  other.  The  F.O.  said  things  out 
loud  when  I  told  him.  "  Come  along,"  he  finished 
up  ;  "  we  must  mend  it  at  once.  The  infantry 
assault  a  trench  at  the  end  of  the  ten  minutes. 
There  they  go  now,"  and  we  heard  the  roar  of  the 
rifles  swell  up  again.  He  took  a  long  stare  out 
through  his  glasses   and  then  we   doubled   out. 


THE  SIGNALLER'S  DAY  269 

The  Germs  must  have  thought  there  was  a  big 
assault  on,  and  their  gunners  were  putting  a  zone 
of  fire  behind  the  trenches  to  stop  supports  coming 
up.    An'  we  had  to  go  through  that  same  zone, 
if  you  please.    'Strewth,  it  was  hot.     There  was 
big  shells  an'  little  shells  an'  middle-sized  shells, 
loarin'  an'  shrieking  up  and  bursting  H.E.  shrapnel 
or  smashing  into  the  ground.     If  there  was  one 
threw  dirt  over  us  there  was  a  dozen.     One  buzzed 
close  past  and  burst  about  twenty  feet  in  front 
of  the  F.O.,  and  either  the  windage  or  the  explosion 
lifted  him  ofl  his  feet  and  clean  rolled  him  over. 
I  thought  he  was  a  goner  again,  but  when  I  came 
up  to  him  he  was  picking  himself  up,  an'  spittin' 
dirt  an'  language  out  between  his  teeth,  an'  none 
the  worse  except  for  the  shakin'.     We  couldn't  find 
that  break.     We  had  to  tap  in  all  along  the  wire 
to  locate  it  and  aU  the  time  it  was  a  race  between 
us  finding  the  break  and  a  shell  finding  us.    At 
last  we  got  it,  where  we'd  run  the  wire  over  a 
broke-up   shed.     The  F.O.   was   burnin'  to  talk 
to  the  Battery,  knowing  they'd  be  anxious  about 
their  shoot,  so  he  picked  a  spot  in  the  lee  of  a  wall 
an'  told  me  to  tap  in  on  the  wire  there.     Just  as 
he  began  talkin'  to  the  Battery  a  Coal-Box  soars 
up  an'   bumps  down  about  twenty  yards  away 


270  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

and  beyond  us.  The  F.O.  looks  up,  but  goes  on 
talkin' ;  but  when  another  shell,  an'  then  another, 
drops  almost  on  the  exact  same  spot,  he  Hfted 
the  'phone  closer  in  to  the  wall  and  stoops  well 
down  to  it.  I  needn't  tell  you  I  was  down  as  close 
to  the  ground  as  I  could  get  without  digging. 
"  I  think  we're  all  right  here,"  sez  the  RO.,  when 
another  shell  bust  right  on  the  old  spot  an'  the 
spHnters  went  singin*  over  us.  "  They  look  hke 
keepin'  on  the  same  spot,  and  we  must  be  out 
of  the  line  the  sphnters  take." 

*  It  looked  like  he  was  right,  for  about  three 
more  fell  without  touchin'  us,  and  I  was  feeUng 
a  shade  easier  in  my  mind.  There  was  some 
infantry  comin'  up  on  their  way  to  the  support 
trenches,  an'  they  filed  along  by  the  wall  that  was 
coverin'  us.  Just  as  they  was  passin'  another 
shell  dropped.  It  was  on  the  same  spot  as  all 
the  others,  but  blow  me  if  it  didn't  get  three  of 
them  infantry.  They  fell  squirmin'  right  on  top 
o'  us  an'  the  instrument,  so  I  concluded  that  spot 
wasn't  as  safe  as  the  F.O.  had  reckoned,  an' 
there  was  a  flaw  in  'is  argument  somewheres  that 
the  Coal-Box  'ad  found  out.  The  F.O.  saw  that 
too,  an'  we  shifted  out  quick-time.  After  that 
things  quietened  down  a  bit,  an'  the  short  hairs 


THE  SIGNALLER'S  DAY  271 

on  the  back  o'  my  neck  had  time  to  lie  down. 
They  stood  on  end  again  once  or  twice  in  the 
afternoon,  when  we'd  some  more  repairin'  under 
fire  to  do  ;  an'  then  to  wind  up  the  day  they  turned 
a  maxim  on  just  as  we  was  comin'  away  from 
the  post,  an'  we  had  to  flop  on  our  faces  with 
the  bullets  zizz-izz-ipping  just  over  us.  We  took 
a  trench,  I  hear ;  an'  the  Jocks  in  front  of  us 
had  thirty  casualties,  and  the  Guards  on  our  left 
'ad  some  more,  'cos  I  seed  'em  comin'  back  to 
the  ambulance. 

'  On  the  'ole,  it's  been  about  the  most  unpleas- 
antest  day  I've  spent  for  a  spell.  What  wi' 
wadin'  to  the  knees  in  the  trench  mud,  getting 
soaked  through  wi'  rain,  not  'aving  a  decent  meal 
all  day,  crawhn'  about  in  mud  an'  muck,  an' 
gettin'  chivvied  an'  chased  all  over  the  landscape 
wi'  shells  an'  shrapnel  an'  machine-guns  an'  rifles, 
I've  just  about  'ad  enough  o'  this  King  an'  Country 
game.' 

The  Signaller  paused  a  moment.  But  his  gaze 
fell  on  the  letter  he  still  held  in  his  hand,  and  he 
tapped  it  with  a  scornful  finger  and  burst  out 
again  violently :  *  King  an'  Country — huh  !  An' 
a  bald-'eaded  blighter  sittin'  warm  an'  dry  an' 
comfortable  by  'is  fireside  at  'ome  wiites   out 


272  BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

an'  tells  me  wliat  the  Country's  thinkin'.  I 
come  in  'ere  after  a  day  that's  enough  to  turn  the 
'air  of  a  'earse-'orse  grey,  an'  I'm  told  about  my 
pals  bein'  casualtied ;  an'  to  top  it  all  I  gets  a 
letter  from  'ome — "  why  don't  you  do  somethin'  ? 
Why  don't  you  get  up  an'  go  for  'em  ?  "    Ar-r-rh ! ! ' 

*  'Ome,'  remarked  the  Limber  Gunner.  ^  'Ome 
don't  know  nuthin'  about  it.' 

'  They  don't,'  agreed  the  Signaller.  '  But  what 
I  wants  to  know — an'  there's  a  many  'ere  like 
me — is  why  don't  somebody  let  'em  know  about 
it ;  let  'em  really  know.' 


AT  THE  BALLANTTNB  PRESS 

PEINTED  BY  SPOTTISWOODE,  DALIiANTYNB  AND  CO.  WD, 

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London :    John    Murray,    Albemarle   Street,    W.  1 . 


SHILLING    ♦   NET   ♦    SERIES 


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The  Tale  of  the  Great  Mutiny. 

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A    Vision    of  India.  Sidney  Low. 

The  Defence  of  Plevna.     Capt.  F.  w.  von  Herbert. 
The  Memoirs  of  Sherlock  Holmes. 

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Nelson  and  His  Captains.       Dr.  w.  h.  Fitchett. 

With    Edged    Tools.  Henry  Seton  Merriman. 

The  Adventures  of  Sherlock  Holmes. 

A.  Conan  Doyle. 

The  Exploits  of  Brigadier  Gerard. 

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Wellington's    Men.  Dr.  W.  H.  Fitchett. 

The  Red  Hand  of  Ulster.      George  A.  Birmingham. 
The    Honourable    Molly.  Katharine  Tynan. 

A    Life's    Morning,  George  Gissing. 

Court    Royal.  S.  Baring  Gould. 

An  Outpost  in  Papua.  a.  k.  Chigneii. 


9. 

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14. 

15- 

16. 

17. 
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19. 

20. 
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